


Learning to Breathe

by victoriaandalbert



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Attempted Sexual Assault, BUT this fic has a fix it of it's own plus a fix it for 4x13 in the epiogue so LOL, Blow Jobs, Broken Promises, Character Study, Comfort Sex, Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Date gone wrong, Declarations Of Love, Destiny, Eliot Waugh's Canonically Huge Dick, Eliot's Canonical Childhood Trauma, Eliot's Canonical Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Falling In Love, Feelings, First Dates, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Fix-It, Fluff, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Forgiveness, Found Family, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Healing Sex, Heavy Angst, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Jane's Canonical Manipulation of Events, Julia is WLW as fuck, Kissing in the Rain, Love, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, Magic Revealed, Magical Boat Ride, Male-Female Friendship, Matchmaking, Mild Book Inspiration, Mindwiping, Museums, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Picnics, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Promises, Prophetic Visions, Protectiveness, Quentin Kicks A Cart, Quentin's Canonical Suicidal Ideation, References to the Canonical Sexual Harrassment That Eliot Endured, Relapsing, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Romantic Soulmates, Secret Messages, Sexually Inexperienced Quentin, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Singing, Smut, Soulmates, Tenderness, True Love, Visions, Wet Clothing, a SEEMINGLY sad ending at first!!, chapter numbers tentative, eventually lmao hi epilogue, to Q of course, with a warning on the chapter it is in and what section if you want to avoid!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2020-01-25 20:51:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18582370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriaandalbert/pseuds/victoriaandalbert
Summary: Quentin, a student at Columbia, and Eliot, a student at CUNY, meet at a coffee shop in Harlem and find themselves incredibly drawn to each other. Despite their  prior traumas, romance isn't able to escape them, and an all encompassing love blossoms. But the ghosts of Eliot's past, in particular, threaten everything that they have.or, ellotwaugh‘s au where Quentin and Eliot met when they were students in NYC before show canon.





	1. it was enchanting to meet you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OcyDarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OcyDarling/gifts).



> My dear friend Ashley (ellotwaugh/ocydarling) came up with this wonderful idea, and she graciously allowed me to write it. <3 I hope that I do it justice! After the enormous response we got on an edit for it [on tumblr](https://queenvictorias.tumblr.com/post/184076322768/goldengodvevos-au-where-quentin-and-eliot-met) (spoiler-ish warning for it because of the summary! It matches the tags but still just in case! I'll copy/paste the edit without that summary<3) Ash encouraged me to write it.
> 
> This is for you bb. <<333333
> 
>  

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Even in the most wretched life, there’s hope.”
> 
> ― Michelle Moran, Cleopatra's Daughter

Eliot was sick and fucking _tired_ of the old adage “you can’t run away from your problems!” But here he was, in _New York City_ of all places, after leaving the tedium and conservatism of that town of Whiteland, Indiana. Who would not leave if they had the chance? It literally was a “white land” of wacky fundamentalist Caucasians who had no bounds on their racism, misyogy, or homophobia. It had only four thousand residents - and the high school he went to was just a mishmash of homogeneous towns, the type of place where football games, proms, pep rallies, and other useless shit was utterly imperative to the community. Eliot couldn’t afford to go to one of the fancier schools in New York like Columbia or NYU -- he was a _farmer’s_ son -- but when his acceptance to City University came through, he immediately turned down SUNY Purchase (his safety school) and found his way to New York City the fall after _finally_ graduating from awful high school. And what happened there when he was fourteen...

Moving away was one big step into his own happiness, but memories of a such a father he had, such a childhood he heartbreakingly went through haunted him on the edge of his consciousness. He couldn't escape it at all, nor desired to even deal with it. Leaving and going very, very far away should me MORE than enough! But nevermind any of it, he came to the city to reinvent himself, he was going to keep _just_ doing that. He had his university, his friends, his coffee shop they frequented together, a whole city full of all adventure, getting his Most Liberal Arts degree. _Who needs therapy_?, he thought, as he was supposed to immersed in studying for the ridiculous art history exam.

“Wake up, Waugh,” snapped his  studymate.

Eliot smacked his friend’s arm a little too hard, “Stop with your whiny shit, Oroitz. You can barely hear anything in here with all the Columbia twats buzzing about anyway.”

His other studymate Perdita sniffed. “I don’t even know why they chill here,” she said dismissively, “They’re a shit posh school in another neighborhood.”

“Not much less shitty than our neighborhood,” Eliot reminded her with a smile. City College was in Hamilton Heights overlooking Harlem, which was actually far from a “shithole” rich white people might call it. It was one of the greatest centers of culture in the world, and was an such an important part of the African American experience. Columbia was in the bordering neighborhood Morningside Heights, which was just as lovely and diverse. Not that many of the rich kids who bought their way into Columbia would say so. Eliot may have come to the city to reinvent himself - he was a creative project, an art piece in constant motion, and perhaps you might mistake him for a boy whose best friend may have been a Kennedy, but he was no snob and wouldn’t pretend otherwise. He sure as hell couldn’t afford Columbia - the scholarship money from those types of schools were tight.

The white and ridiculous Columbia blue on their sweaters (like, how pretentious do you have to be to have to make your own color blue ) popped out as their students dotted the Harlem cafe, where Eliot and his group of friends had been coming to study since the previous fall semester. Yarrows and rosemaries and thymes in all their brightness and beauty shone in the parks of the city in September, filling the air with a heavenly sent that seemed to make people float about. The willow trees would soon lose their leaves, but the gold and green it would leave was always pretty. Eliot loved it.

“They don’t know how to dress,” Eliot put in with mock pettiness, “it’s like they walked right out of bed and didn’t even bother to shower.” His friends laughed. _As if even they did!_ “I mean it’s only September,” he added, “we’re not quite to the fuck everything and just be dirty because exams.”

Perdita flicked Eliot’s shoulder. “How about we keep analyzing this painting of Mnemosyne, which actually has pretty colors.” Eliot gazed down at his lengthy textbook, the vibrant, deep green against the Greek goddess’s marble white skin was astonishing. Her lips were a certain pink as she held the lamp of memory in all its gold splendour. He ran his long, elegant fingers over the inscription it’s artist Dante Gabriel Rosetti carved in the frame:

 

**_Thou fill'st from the winged chalice of the soul_ **

**_Thy lamp, O Memory, fire-winged to its goal._ **

 

There was something ethereally touching about it, it somehow spoke to him down deep into the depths of his soul - which at times seemed so shattered. He smiled sadly and looked up. His eyes were immediately drawn to lovely coiffure of glimmering long brown hair, with a certain bounce to it that made Eliot a bit envious -- why couldn’t his hair be naturally like that? His curls drove him batshit crazy! She was not dressed drabb but had on a nice fitted white sweater that complimented the beauty of her darker skin. He wasn’t into women romantically, but he could _always_ appreciate a woman - he loved and respected them. And she was beautiful! His appreciation of beauty is what made him so talented art history. Suddenly a red cheeked young man came up with two coffees, handed one to the young woman, and twirled her hair playfully in his fingers. He at once caught Eliot’s eye, with his golden brown hair, covered by a knitted grey beanie. _Who would cover such beautiful hair like that?!_ Eliot thought. He dresses weirdly, with a light blue collared shirt topped with brown striped sweater and a deep brown jacket! It wasn’t exactly cold outside that day, either. But he found it somewhat charming. He hadn’t even realized he was staring so much until the awkward young man flicked his light brown eyes in Eliot’s direction. The young man’s fringe was bouncing awkwardly in his eyes, but Eliot could still see the glitter in them. His cheeks flushed a deeper red with a small, shy smile contouring his face; Eliot's own cheeks too flushed, and his heart fluttered strangely. They both looked away from each other, feeling awkward.

Eyes now fixed on his textbook again, the colors of the goddess ever visceral and touching, he overheard the young woman say to the young man, “What, what is it, Q? Why are you being such a dork?” After a pause, Eliot then heard her say, with a hint of mischief to her melodic voice, “Oh, _him_.”

“Shut the fuck up, Julia,” he snapped, a little too loud.

Eliot felt a jarring throb in his chest that, at once, excited and scared him. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ He dared not look back up for a while, and attempted to study but in vain. Finally, he got the courage to look back up, only to see that young man who he shared that strange moment - can you even call it that? - was walking out the door: his eyes too turned to Eliot’s, smiling shyly into Eliot’s sparkling hazel hues.

An infectious smile Eliot returned in kind.

-

That certainly wasn’t the last of Eliot and this mysterious young man beholding each other’s eyes. For a couple weeks, every school day, they would see each other, blush, and just smile. Eliot’s friends wondered what the fuck was wrong with him. But true to form, Eliot really couldn’t say anything - but not because of shyness, because Eliot was anything but. He had his flirtations and affairs since moving to New York, but this was something...sweet. He was not used to that at all. He began to look forward to the smiles, yet was terrified too.

It wasn’t until one day he didn’t see the golden haired boy when he got to the coffee shop late (parties in New York were insane) to meet with his studymates that he realized how much he looked forward to seeing him. It was the only day the whole last couple weeks of the semester it rained a bit, but there was also a strange, bright silver lining of clouds above Eliot’s head - it made him feel a invigorated, excited. And it near died when he got to the coffee shop, classical art history text book in hand, waving at his friend’s he’s going to buy his coffee - and in that moment the feeling was not only saved but strengthened. Unawares, someone walked right into Eliot from the side, a forceful and clumsy crash that nearly sent Eliot to the ground, catching the person than ran into him in his arms.

“Holy shit!” Eliot cried, “are you okay?”

Coffee had spilled all over the floor, though mercifully Eliot was spared the splash save his fingers holding onto the soaked brown jacket of that same young man he’d been making eyes with all this time.

“Jesus! I’m-I’m sorry,” the young man repeated, as Eliot swiftly grabbed napkins off the counter to press to the other’s coat.

Eliot only smiled, somehow amused at his terrified and astonished expression. Wiping at his collar, Eliot replied with amusement in his voice, “I’m Eliot. And you are….?”

“I’m Q-Quentin,” the young man finally said, grabbing napkins from Eliot’s hand and trying to help him.

“Quentin,” Eliot repeated, caressing his name as if smoothing out fine silk.

Quentin looked up sparkly-eyed through his eyelashes at Eliot, finally smiling himself with crimsoning cheeks. _“Eliot.”_

-

Julia, in the background, smiled mischievously. She whispered to James, “I’m making this happen.”

“Make what happen?” James asked, kissing her on the nose.  
_“Them.”_ Julia nodded toward Quentin and the dark, curly-haired _babe_ who Quentin was too scared to talk to after all that eye sex.

He shook his head. “So you think you’re Emma Woodhouse now?”

Julia pinched his cheek until it turned pink. “I am glad dear, you are reading Jane Austen, like I’ve been telling you to do.” She winked at James, then in two strides was at Quentin’s side, smacking him playfully on the back.

“Maybe you should go and sit outside Q, to dry in the sun,” she suggested, with a flash of a smile at Eliot, who returned one good heartedly.

 _It’s literally forty fucking degrees out_ , Quentin thought irritably. He knew well what Julia was trying to do - ever since high school back in New Jersey she was _always_ trying to hook him up, especially after she started dating James their junior year. Julia knew Quentin was bisexual, and was quite comfortable with that identity - and now, living in New York City, why not explore _ALL_ those options not available at a shitty Jersey high school?!

“Yeah, okay, Julia,” he said blankly, reaching to pick up the emptied coffee cup off the floor, wincing at his shoes wetted by his dearly departed latte. But as he did, another hand had grabbed for it to - and when he looked up sharply, it was Eliot’s hand he was touching. Quentin let him take the cup.

“I feel bad I let you run into me,” Eliot said kindly, tossing it in the trash. Quentin hadn’t realized until now his beenie had slightly fallen over his eyes. “I’ll come sit out there with you,” Eliot offered, feeling the burn of the blush upon his cheek. _Get it to fucking together, Waugh,_ he chided himself. His body betraying his emotions he tried so hard to guard both terrified and embarrassed him. He almost smacked his own cheek as if to tell the heat to fuck off! (Not that it would work.)

“Oh, I--” Quentin started, with Julia pushing him lightly forward toward the door. He flashed a disapproving look at her, before returning a soft gaze at Eliot. “Okay.”

-

It was already sprinkling outside when Quentin and Eliot sat on the hard, stone public seats facing a lush Morningside Park, its winding paths dotted with  aloe and tulips and red and blue salvias glistened by the weather. They led to a bumbling, cascading water fountain, which was particularly loud today with the rain drops falling on it’s smooth stream. Quentin focused his racing thoughts on the drip drops, trying that _mindfulness_ stuff his therapist invited him to do when feeling distressed. He was getting better at it - it helped - but Christ, why did everything seem SO fucking hard? He got into _Columbia_ after all, being from a working class family in Jersey, somehow managed an amazing full scholarship that eluded most applicants - and yet, it was all so challenging for him.

Eliot’s looked over at Quentin with a low sigh, and a tender smile full of warmth. Eliot loved this park, and frequented it in quiet moments at night when he needed to just _breathe_ , apart from all of the bullshit.

“Here,” Eliot said, taking off his green scarf glinted with flecks of metallic gold and offering it to Quentin. “It’s freezing as fuck out here, and your jacket is soaked.” He looked hard at Quentin’s sullied coat on his lap, and went to grab it.

Quentin looked at Eliot sharply, eyes full of pathos. l “Hey, no, no, it’s okay. This shit was my fault anyway.”

Eliot made a face. “You’ll get a cold out here, Quentin.” It felt so strange to Eliot to have this young man’s name on his tongue!

Quentin nodded and took the scarf, letting Eliot take is coat. But he had a hard time of putting it on himself-- just like all those times he’d go somewhere and struggle with simply pulling his sweater over his head when he got hot! - cursing under his breath, until Eliot, with gentle fingers, reached out and tidied it for him.

Eliot flushed when his cold rings graced the nape of Quentin’s neck by accident. “Sorry,” he said quietly, both their steady breaths apparent in the cold. Quentin breathed in the scent of Eliot’s cologne, an exhilarating essense that Quintin quite couldn’t put his finger on what is was.

Eliot felt incredibly charmed; at least now he could blame his balmy cheeks on the temperatures. He wrapped the scarf neatly in place around the soft skin of Quentin’s neck. _“Perfect.”_ And the two shared an affection smile.

Eliot suddenly felt something hit his leg. He looked down to see a deck of cards splayed in the gravel. Quentin flushed with absolute mortification. Eliot reached down to pick them up. “Uh, your cards fell out,” he said shakily, pressing them gently into Quentin’s hands.

Quentin looked down ashamedly, his fingers trembling. “I-I used to play with this stuff a lot in high school, with my friend Julia - just to keep up with her, she’s so good at it - but now--”

Eliot cut him off. “ _Now_ you must show me a trick.” Eliot felt a slight terror inside himself….but who could blame him after what happened? But in this moment he waved those memories away as if a distant nightmare. “I bet you’re super good at it.”

Quentin’s features squeezed into a shy smile. He simply nodded and with ceaseless fingers, shuffled the cards as deftly as any true magician would. He held the deck in his hand, and - with cautious excitement - prompted Eliot to take the top card. The playful grin Quentin had when their hands touched filled Eliot with sweetness.

“Ace of clubs,” Eliot said with furor, placing the card back on the deck face up.

Quentin flipped the card back over, and inserted it into the middle of the deck. He made an adorable show of it, shaking the cards as if he was doing some _actual_ magical spell. They both laughed like school children. Quentin called out “one, two, three!” and the very same Ace of Clubs jumped into Quentin’s hand on full display for Eliot.

Eliot’s eyes widened and he shook his head with genuine surprise. “I don’t know how you magicians do that shit.” But he clapped with a playfulness that made Quentin feel much less self-conscious, his heart swelling. “Seriously, you’re really good at that,” Eliot continued thoughtfully, “It’s almost like it’s real.”

Quentin put the card back in the deck. “Almost,” he echoed sadly. Oh, how he had spent so much of his existence wishing magic was just fucking real -- while Eliot feared it, whatever it was, above all else. “I’m just a kid who has spent too much time playing with cards,” he said, his smile faded. Quentin suddenly felt stupid and childish.

“Hey,” Eliot said kindly, delicately touching Quentin’s wrist, feeling Quentin’s heartbeat beneath his gentle touch. “ _I_ loved it, which means like...a lot, okay? Because I’m _never_ fucking impressed with anything.”

Quentin raised his head, and grinned deeply. “I’m glad I can impress you.”

Eliot, quite charmed (was it all magic afterall?), opened his mouth to say something, but Julia suddenly jumped between them.

“Hey, nerds!” she said with vigor, putting one arm on Eliot and the other around Quentin, her glossy hair whipping their faces. “Eliot, right?” she asked. “Tonight James and I are going out tomorrow to celebrate it finally being fucking Friday, I invited Quentin but he didn’t want to third wheel. You should come. You live around here right? We see you all the time.”

Quentin was literally _dying_ inside of embarrassment. _Julia, this is bullying!,_ he wanted to cry out.

Eliot simply glanced meaningully at Quentin. He wasn’t at all put out by the idea, and if Quentin wanted to…. “I wouldn’t mind to, at all.” he said in a measured tone, his gaze never wavering from Quentin, who exchanged a meaningful glance with Eliot.

Julia slapped both of their shoulders. “Great! Meet us here at seven tomorrow. We’re probably going bowling!”

 _Oh, fuck,_ Eliot groaned to himself, _That’s literally the straightest shit ever._

But no matter, Quentin would be there, after all. How could Eliot resist? He was enchanted. He could endure hetero shit for ...whatever _this_ is.

After they had said their goodbyes, Eliot realized as he walked back to the uni campus -- high on that peculiar, frightening, thrilling moment with Quentin - that he still had Quentin’s jacket in his arms. And that Quentin walked away wearing his scarf.

Eliot, in all his second guessing and the terror that accompanied it, couldn’t take back going out with them now - they _had_ to see each other again.

And it was far from unwelcome -despite his insecurities knocking at the door. For now, for this very  special moment, he wouldn’t open it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope ash and all of you enjoyed this!! kudos and comments always appreciated :333333
> 
> Ash and I put together a spotify mix for when we're inspiring ideas for this au together. [Here it is if ya'll wanna listen](https://open.spotify.com/user/12176609381/playlist/7xH6Ma3jD0O7e9M2ep8yIe?si=POaBtOeCR3CQqQh934HUyw). :) 
> 
> We've also began a WIP updates page complete with graphics, world building, links,tags,character sketches, etc on [here!](https://queenvictorias.tumblr.com/ltb). :)


	2. More Than Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How that moment shines for me still when I was close to you, with your hand in mine."
> 
> – Prince Albert to Queen Victoria

Quentin paced his room with an alarming quickness that made him breathless. He didn’t know if he wanted to _ kill _ Julia for what she did. Dizzy, he plopped on his bed, and stared at his first edition copies of the Fillory series, taking the first book in his hands and covering his ruddy face with it. Julia slid open the glass door into his room - James was his roommate across the apartment, so she was  _ always  _ here.

“I hate you,” Quentin muffled between the pages.

Julia jumped on Quentin. She struggled to wrench the book from his face. “Let’s be in reality here, Q,” she said quietly. “I think you’ll have a lot of fun. I have a good feeling about him, not only cute but also so tender and kind, don’t you think?”

“Jesus Christ, were you watching us?”

Julia grinned. “Maybe, baby.” She kissed Q on the cheek. “He put up with the magic tricks we love. Like, isn’t that boyfriend material for you right there?”

“Boyfriend material!” he cried out, a little too loud. “I’ve never had a serious relationship, ever. Not like you and James.” His girlfriends in high school were nice girls but they didn’t stick, so he doubted someone like Eliot ever would. “There’s no way that’s happening, not with a person like him, _ ever _ .”

“And what is a ‘person like him’?”

Quentin didn’t answer.

Julia shook her head, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “You’re worth ten of anyone, Q. And the way he genuinely smiled at you,  _ blushed. _ You can’t say you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed,” he admitted. “Probably was embarrassed to be with me.”

Julia now wanted to kill  _ him.  _ “You’re an idiot.”

“So you’ve been saying ever since you met James two years ago.”

“Q,” she said gently, taking his hand, “you’ll only ever find love if you put yourself out there. Jesus fuck, you deserve it, Q. I know we're only eighteen, but Christ, why not prepare for happiness whenever it comes?”

Quentin looked at her meaningfully. “Are you happy? Because that’s really all that matters to me. You’re my dearest friend, Julia.”

Julia touched his hot face, gracing his trembling lips with her delicate, bejeweled finger. “You’re my world, Q. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be someone else’s, either, and them to you in return.”

Quentin smiled at her honestly, eyes big and glowing. “He was really cute, huh?”

Julia smacked him with a pillow. “YES!”

And they both giggled just like they did as lonely kids in Jersey, who only had one another.

-

Eliot’s focus in class was astoundly terrible the next morning. He didn’t even, on this rare occasion, go to the coffee shop. (Tiredness from a late night? Worry about seeing Quentin and looking like a mess before the appointed hour? Could one have to do with the other? Who knows...) At least it wasn’t inability to concentrate because of a hangover this time - the memory of his own fingers gracing the softness of Quentin’s tender skin on his neck made Eliot’s terrible left-handed writing extra worse today. He sat with heavy eyes in the large lecture hall - his professor was projecting the eight-part illustration series by Victorian era painter JR Weguelin called “The Cat of Bubastes: A Tale of Ancient Egypt.” The professor vividly described the ancient Egyptian worship of cats in the artwork, but noted the plot of the illustrated story depicted the accidental killing of a sacred cat, considered a magical creature worthy of the respect and reverence of demigods, and the horrible consequences killing it would incur. Eliot flinched violently, his hand jerking. The people next to him glared. 

“Haven’t you ever had a chill before? Jesus fucking  _ Christ _ , go back to your work,” he snapped under his breath. “God damnit.”

They promptly looked away, as Eliot’s hand still trembled.

He couldn’t control this feeling - the all consuming panic at having other worldly abilities - but he  _ could _ control how to act. And that’s exactly what he’d show Quentin: someone fearless, strong, decisive, and chill.

-

“Ugly, ugly ugly,” Eliot, nevertheless, snapped at himself in the mirror. He worried about what to wear, what to say, what to act. And he usually never had trouble with any of these. But Jesus, Quentin had probably seen him in every outfit he owns, and he was not at all emotionally prepared for him to see him out at night with the same shit on! He’d need to mix it up, hope Quentin wouldn’t notice. Being a poor student sucked. At least his housing allowed him his own single room, albeit part of a suite - that was no less troublesome and wild than Eliot himself.

The classes for that day slogged by but knowing he’d be seeing Quentin kept him awake. When he had returned to his dorm to get ready, he felt his phone buzz on his side. It was Moros, the man he had met partying with at that insane bash he went to. They fucked and did X most of the night. This wasn’t unusual for Eliot, but getting the text from Moros unsettled him a bit. He wasn’t sure why, he quite thought he was fine with drowning himself in sex and drugs and partying, but it felt different today. He completely forgot he had been been invited by Moros to his pad for a weekend of “spectacular” fun. 

“Not gonna be able to til’ like a lot later tonight,” he texted back, with a strange feeling in his stomach.

He’d never admitted that he felt disgusted with himself for doing shit like this, risking himself in it, and only in this moment in the tiniest sense began to realize it. He would do anything to fill that hole inside him, even if his life was put in serious danger with those types like Moros.

_ I’m someone Quentin would never choose to be with _ , he thought harshly as he riffled fiercely through his wardrobe. He look up at the clock: 6:30, he knew he needed to stop feeling sorry for himself and just get  _ fucking _ ready.

-

Mercifully, Eliot found a fly as fuck silver shirt with a smooth vest that was tight around his body. He tripped in his pants as he hurried out the door.

“El, aren’t you gonna join?” Oirotz asked, booze and bong already spread out on the suite living room tables, surrounded by their buzzing roomates.

“Not now,” he said, with a strange shortness that kind of hurt Oroitz.

-

When Eliot turned the corner to the coffee shop, Julia, James, and a somewhat hiding Quentin waved at Eliot as he met them outside the coffee shop. Eliot’s wild hair was neatly coiffured, but he felt a stray curl on his cheek and chastised himself for letting that happen. He couldn’t do shit about it, hopefully Quentin didn’t give a fuck.

Quentin’s smile reached his eyes at Eliot’s bouncing curl and moved carefully towards him. Eliot took Quentin’s hands in his and squeezed them, and Quentin blushed fervently. “Eliot.”

“Quentin,” Eliot replied with a cheerful expression flitting across his features.

Night had now fully descended upon the city, and it was quite a chilly night, but Quentin’s grasp warmed Eliot’s fingers.

Julia, heady on her matchmaking, smacked Quentin on the back, and excitedly prompted the group to leave, flashing a mischievous grin at James who shook his head at her.

-

The bowling alley was lit up in vibrant blue and greens that made Eliot’s eyes squeeze in their brightness. Such bright and happy colors for such a place populated by the most ordinary and irritating heterosexual couples ever.

“God, does Julia have you do this a lot?” Eliot asked as he tied up his bowling shoes, sitting across from Quentin, who was absolutely struggling with his own.

“U-uh, n-not really, no,” he said, berating himself for being - in  _ his _ opinion - so fucking inept at everything, “She sprung this on me last night. Trust me, she’s not into this straight shit usually. She’s an out and proud ‘w.l.w.’”

Eliot grinned. “I see we're on the same wavelength.” He got down on his knees and tied Quentin’s shoes for him, looking up with soft eyes, despite Quentin’s clear embarrassment. 

Quentin had to catch his breath, and leaned toward Eliot, starting to close the gap between them. “Help me up? I don’t want to fall into you again.”

Eliot took Quentin tenderly by the wrists -- the smooth cloth of Quentin’s sweater only made Eliot miss his skin contact, at once so new and fiercely intoxicating. Quentin had a hard time letting go of Eliot’s fingers, his tender touch making him swoon.

Eliot opened his mouth to say something - he wasn’t sure what, just _ something _ to put out there -- but Julia appeared out of nowhere.

“Okay! So!” she called out. “James and I are on one team, you two on the other. It’ll be fun. We’re right over here.”

_ Fuck _ , Eliot remembered that, _ hello! _ he was left handed and sure as fuck couldn’t use the usual shit there. “I’m sorry disappoint you guys but I’m left  handed and need that fucking dumb left handed ball. I’ll just go--”

Julia cut him off. “James will get it,” she prompted, grabbing James eagerly by the arm. She led her boyfriend over to the counter, watching as Eliot and Quentin sat down in the seats by the ring, only glancing at one another - smiling, blushing, then looking away.

“Aren’t they cute?” Julia asked James excitedly, who lugged the left handed bowling ball in his hand - a strange glittering black design unlike the other drab bowling balls.

He glanced away. “If you say so, Jules.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” she snapped. “You’ve been an absolute  _ dick  _ about this since yesterday. “I thought I was Emma Woodhouse to you.”

He looked at her long and hard. “And remember how well that worked out for her?” Julia recalled how Emma tried to matchmake Harriet, and it was 300 pages of undoing that wrong. Julia’s skin prickled a  bit, but she waved it off and called James a fucking asshole before walking away to Eliot and Quentin.

“Okay guys,” she said cheerfully, “there are ten frames for us each. And lucky for you two, you’re first!”

Eliot and Quentin glanced at one another, pink still apparent on their cheeks - delicately helping one another get on their feet. Tall Eliot, small Quentin - what a pair, Julia thought happily. Fuck James and his bullshit.

“Let me help you,” Eliot prompted in Quentin’s ear, as they positioned themselves, a soft whisper that made Quentin quiver.

“I’m terrible at this shit,” Quentin admitted.

“I’ve got you covered,” Eliot reassured kindly, letting his arms slide around Quentin’s lithe frame. Eliot’s abilities terrified him, but if it got him out of this dumpster fire of a double date in a fucking disgusting smelling bowling alley, he would. (He usually only used magic to get out of things, any way.)

He pressed tightly around Quentin, who sighed a little, startled at so close a touch. Eliot lined his hands with Quentin’s, and together they threw the bowling ball down the alley. Magic poured out of Eliot’s finger tips, causing the ball to rather violently knock out all of the pegs. People looked in his direction. It terrified Eliot--he still had such little control of his abilities.

“Fuck, Eliot!” Julia cried out. “You’re not allowed to help our little Q, anymore. God damn you are good.”

“Whatever, Julia,” Eliot said playfully. He really liked her, and and God, he thought, if only he had her lustrous brown locks!

-

Julia and James seriously  _ struggled  _ to knock out any of the pegs on their turns. They playfully pushed one another, kissing and embracing and laughing heartily as if they were the only ones in the room. (She’d forget his harsh words for now.) Eliot and Quentin, alternating between one holding the other, blushed and laughed as they striked out each turn together.

When it was Julia and James’s last turn, Quentin and Eliot sat next to each other in an awkward, heated silence. Eliot chastised himself for seeming so God damn awkward; Quentin, likewise, berated himself. Eliot almost spoke when Quentin pulled out a bottle from his bag and swallowed some pills with a dour, quite embarrassed expression. But it wasn’t Eliot’s business.

Eliot finally decided to speak up; he had a reputation as a confident person to maintain. Especially for Quentin. “I realized that I don’t even know your last name,” Eliot spoke coolly, “or your story, really.” His gaze fell upon Quentin’s fine features, so cut as if from bright marble, with Quentin’s head cautiously doing the same.

“My story?” he chuckled a little. “Quentin Coldwater. Not much to say really…. I go to Columbia and all that.” He shrugged, forcing himself not to glance away. “Another broke scholarship student.”

Eliot almost frowned when Quentin said Columbia, but sat up a bit when he mentioned his position. “I didn’t even bother to apply to Columbia, I’m too stupid to get into a place like that.” He was shocked at his own words, his head jerking back.  _ Fucking idiot _ , he snapped at himself.

“I _ seriously _ doubt that,” Quentin said, placing his hand on Eliot’s. “I see and hear you in the cafe all the time, laughing and loving talking about your subject.” Quentin softly stroked Eliot’s skin. “Like that Cleopatra artwork by John William Waterhouse I heard you talking about. I think you’re just the king of De-Nile.”

Quentin wanted to smash himself in the face.  _ Holy, fuck. _ He could not BELIEVE he just said that. He wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Eliot simply smiled, breathing out.  _ Absolutely adorable _ . “You are an art history major, too, then?”

“Oh, no,” Quentin responded quietly, “Literature. That is, English and Comparative Literature, anyway.” Eliot saw the flash of unconfident feelings playing on Quentin’s face.

“I think you got this,” Eliot said kindly, “you’ll do great in whatever you do with that degree. Mine is the most useless of them all.”

“Not much more useless than mine,” Quentin joked, his heart thundering in his chest. “I want to teach, I think,” he offered fumblingly.

Eliot eyes expressed deep tenderness.  _ God _ , this man -- he nearly crippled under his lack of self worth, Eliot didn’t think he deserved such a incredible person like Quentin to even hold hands with. “I’ve not know you long, but I just...feel you would be incredible at it,” he put in delicately, fingering Quentin’s skin, “you’re...you. And that’s more than enough. I don’t even know what to fucking do with this degree, but God, you. You’re perfect.” His voice was stuttering a bit,  _ did I really just fucking say that? _ “Perfect for that job. You’re so kind, and all that stuff.”

Quentin’s gaze fully met Eliot’s. Something deep stirred inside him, and it shone in his eyes. He choked a little, and just smiled and blushed. “You never told me your full name,” he said sweetly.

Eliot was now fingers laced with Quentin, the contact enough to send him over the edge - fight or flight was in full force. His urge to run from something,  _ someone _ so pure and beautiful kicked in tenfold. It took all his strength not to get up and leave. “Eliot Waugh,” he said eventually.

Quentin’s face scrunched up into such an infectious smile, all teeth, eyes almost not visible.  _ Dammit all _ , Eliot thought, had such an innocent smile ever been smiled?

“Like Evelyn Waugh?” Quentin,  _ that adorable literature nerd _ (Eliot thought), asked.

“ _ Fuck  _ that guy,” Eliot said sharply, then laughed with Quentin.

“Yeah, he was kinda problematic. A Tory and anti Semite and racist and opposer to social programs. All of that.” Quentin thought a minute. “Yeah, no he was a terrible person. Overrated really.”

“See?” Eliot said cheerfully, “You’re already the smartest soon-to-be teacher.”

Their hands stayed locked, their amorous gaze deepening. This time, it was  _ them _ who felt like the only ones in the room. Oh! how heavenly and chaste - it made Eliot feel like he was defiling the skin of an innocent with his not so innocent hands.

“Fucking finally!” Julia cried out, breaking the moment. She jumped on James and kissed him dirtily. Breaking from the smooch, she shifted her gaze to her experiment. “You guys won, I hope you’re happy!”

Eliot and Quentin both stood up and hugged Julia and James. Eliot felt right embracing Julia, especially. He could see how much Quentin loved her, and why he did.

“Okay so problem, guys,” she said with mock ominousness, “I looked at my phone calendar and realized I have that ‘ _ woman problem’ _ starting today, so like, I need to go home, like now.” She pulled James forcefully close to her side. “James will call us a cab and we’re gonna go. I was gonna take all of us to Morningside Park to fuck around, but sadly I can't.” She patted her stomach to bring home her point, but James’s eyes had a defeated reflection. “You two should still go though,” she proposed.

Quentin and Eliot simply glanced shyly at one another.

“If Quentin wants to,” Eliot said smoothly.

Quentin simply nodded, a ghost of a smile promising joy playing on his lips.

-

They said their goodbyes to Julia and James, and walked into the park, which was conveniently, located half a block from the bowling ally.

Julia was quite brilliant.  _ She deserves magic powers way more then me, _ Eliot thought.

Beginning to circle the blooming garden paths, with the stars above strangely visible and shining for such a bright city, Quentin and Eliot walked close but in that familiar uncomfortable quietness. Eliot panicked when he realized part of his shirt had a rip in it from bowling. God would _ anything _ go right in his life! He'd just have to go with it. Fuck it all.

“I was going crazy trying to pick out what to wear, and now look,” Eliot laughed suddenly, a vague nervousness to his tone, pointing at the rip on his sleeve. “I wasn’t ready for you to see me in the same outfit.”

Quentin jumped up on the low park railing and balanced himself, walking next to Eliot on it. “Well it looks the same to me,” Quentin said smilingly, “just you is more than enough.”

Eliot smiled back. “Don’t die up there.”

Quentin giggled. “I’ll try not to.” He breathed out, focusing his nervous energy on not falling. “Did you have fun...at all tonight?”

Eliot moved over closer to him. “Well, seeing you was fun.” They locked eyes and flushed, and Quentin slipped. Eliot was able to grab his arm just in time and Quentin landed safely on his feet.

“ _ Jesus, _ sorry,” Quentin yelped, “I’m a fucking idiot. I feel I keep almost killing you at every turn.”

Eliot held Quentin’s soft hand between his slender fingers. “I’d die happy then.”  _ Fuck! _ Eliot felt immediately foolish for saying something so banal, but Quentin only laughed.

They started to stroll again, and their hands were still locked. Neither pulled away their fingers - neither wanted to be the first, nor did they even want to stop - so there they were: skin to skin, each to each, holding hands shyly and walking close together around the overflowing fountain that sprinkled a bit on them.

Quentin was glancing away, watching the water bubble under the cloudless night sky. “I love this park.”

“I come here all the time,” Eliot admitted, “it’s a nice place to come to sit out on all the bullshit.”

“Yeah, I grew up in Jersey and all, but I’ve been to the hospital here several times and this is where I liked to come after I would be released.”

Quentin jerked, completely ashamed of himself.  _ How could you fucking tell him that, you idiot?! _ He snapped at himself.

Eliot, however, just looked at Quentin with expressive, delicate eyes. Empathy flitted across his features. Now he understood - or thought he did - Quentin must be recovering from a sickness.  _ Holy shit, is this boy really opening up to me?! _ He had to offer something now.

“I’m from Indiana,” he quickly admitted, though quite horrified at himself. He’s not told a soul that since he moved here. He was happy to let others think him a mysterious boy from some well heeled family that grew up with next to no real problems. “Uh, don’t tell anyone that.”

“Who would I tell?” Quentin asked, glancing back at Eliot.

Eliot met his gaze, and decided to take the plunge. “It’s this place called Whiteland.  _ Atrocious _ place, honey, let me tell you.” He squeezed Quentin’s fingers, as if asking him not to let go. “I grew up on a fucking  _ farm _ . My father is…” He stopped to think, he couldn’t fathom it. “Anyway, it sucked. I ran to New York City as fast as possible. It’s hard to be...me back there.” Not that he showed the real him here, either. 

Except for now, with Quentin.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Quentin said kindly, ”because they’re missing out on something amazing.” 

Eliot laughed, a strange rise in his chest that began to flutter. “I mean, duh, Q.”  _ Q _ , Eliot liked that sound of that on his lips. “It was lonely,” he admitted, appealing to Quentin’s sensibilities.

Quentin nodded, with a poignancy to his countenance. “Yeah, I had Julia and all, but...things got too hard. A lot. It was unbearable, it still is even now.” 

Eliot brought Quentin closer to his side, wrapping his arm around him and pulling Quentin’s hand to his own chest. Quentin shuddered a bit underneath Eliot’s heated touch. His heart beat wildly, but he could feel Eliot’s was just as rapid - and it made him smile. Eliot sat them down on a bench looking over the cliff-like hillside where playgrounds were nestled below.

They both looked down at their inwind hands, then raised their eyes to each other’s. Looking deep into someone's soul like that was extremely challenging and vulnerable for them, but they could do it with each other. Quentin let his head lay on Eliot’s shoulder; Eliot let his cheek rest on Quentin’s floppy hair. They stayed like this for a moment, not saying anything - just enjoying melting into each other. As if they were one in this very moment.

“ _ Oh, fuck _ ,” Eliot snapped through his teeth.

Quentin startled and started to lift his head up. “What?”

Eliot felt bad, gently pressing Quentin’s head back on his shoulder. “I forgot your coat,” he said into Q’s ear, “um, sorry about that.”

Quentin realized he’d forgotten Eliot’s scarf. “I still need to give you your scarf back.” The familiar scent on it radiated from Eliot. “It smells nice anyway.”

Quentin’s face twisted.  _ Fucking idiot! _ “I mean--mean--”

“I think I’ll just need to give you my number, so like, we can see each other again, to return our stuff,” Eliot remarked coolly, “and you know, maybe do this again?”

“Absent bowling?” Quentin asked, flushed red.

“God,  _ please _ ,” Eliot quipped, and they both laughed. “I hate that shit.”

Quentin sat up, and Eliot missed the contact. He took his phone out, “yeah, it’s pretty awful, huh?”

He opened up his contacts and shakily handed his phone to Eliot. He smirked at Q’s background; a looming castle and flower bridge in a flush of colors, peaches and cream. “What’s your B.G. from?” he asked as he entered his number, then softly pressed the phone into Quentin’s hand.

“Oh, it’s from the Fillory books,” Quentin replied uneasily, glancing several different ways, “magic, all that.”

Eliot didn’t say anything, just smiled gently. “You should text me when you get home, so I have your number, you know, all of that.”

“Of course….El,” Quentin breathed.  _ I’m your Q, you’re my El _ , he thought.

Eliot had to catch his breath.  _ El. _ He boldly leaned in and tenderly pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to Quentin’s cheek, which felt hot underneath Eliot’s lips. Of course, he was feeling Quentin crimsoning skin.

“Goodnight, Q,” he whispered in Quentin’s ear. “Don’t forget to text me.”

Quentin fluttered. “Never in my life’s dreams.” 

He no longer cared if he sounded like some depressed poet.

-

Eliot came home with the stupidest grin probably ever smiled. He walked past his roomates - already doing their Friday beer pong Eliot usually enjoyed - and closed his door, leaning back against it and laughing. He was almost floating, a skip to his step as he plopped on his bed and grabbed at the bedsheets and squealed into them. He would have made himself sick if he wasn’t so high on this fierce, desirous feeling that filled every pore of his skin.

He felt a buzz in his side and scrambled. He frowned - it was a text message, but not from Quentin. It was from Moros. 

“u coming? It’s only 10, still time. Got that party and play. No glove necessary this time. ;) ” 

Eliot didn’t even need to think about it, he promptly texted back “No thanks,” and blocked his number. 

Enough of that.


	3. i'm taking a chance, letting you inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful.”
> 
> — F. Scott Fitzgerald

 

Eliot’s feet tapped nervously on the floor, his cup of black coffee left sorely neglected to his side - it just gave him anxiety, anyways. How after three weeks he could still feel so impossibly….shy? He couldn’t fathom. But clinking and clunking his knee high boots kinda soothed him.

“Hey!” Quentin called out, touching Eliot on the shoulder, before sliding in the chair across from him.

Eliot’s smiled cheerfully from ear to ear when Quentin sat, those dimples Quentin had from such a good natured grin  _ ever _ so adorable. 

“What is  _ this _ ?” Quentin asked, gazing curiously into his latte - overly creamy and sugary just like how Quentin liked it. He looked up with pinkened cheeks. “Is this a castle?”

“Only for you,” Eliot replied silveryly, raising his cup to Quentin as if toasting him. (Perhaps he was.) 

Quentin laughed a little, then looked about with wonder in his eyes. “You were right, this is a lot nicer and quieter than the usual place.”

Quentin and Eliot had been spending some nice time together the last few weeks. The smell of autumn was in the air as October came, Quentin’s favorite time of year - they’d spent time at the coffee shop since they met, and met at Morningside Park just to hangout a bit and talk and laugh. But these were rather crowded spaces, and Eliot wanted to spend his mornings with Quentin somewhere more cozy and tranquil. This new coffeehouse was austere with a very rustic look to it, but it was tiny and discreet and perfect to  _ actually  _ hear what Quentin’s  voice - so enchantingly melodic to Eliot - was saying. (Plus the latte artists there were magnificent as fuck.)

Eliot and Quentin let their legs cross one another’s, tangling comfortably together.

“You’re going to let me pay you back,” Quentin prompted in a singsong voice.

Eliot shook his head. “"No Q, I'm serious. Your company is a sort of repayment." He added breezily, “Not that repayment is needed, you know. You can grab your coffee and skip out and I wouldn't be mad at all." It was meant to come out as a joke, but there was a seriousness underneath it - Eliot couldn’t help but test if someone wanted to leave him. He wasn't even sure what  _ thi _ s was, but it made him at once filled with terror and joy.

There was such an air of mystery around Eliot that might unnerve Quentin if he didn’t see Eliot’s spirit clearly. It wa a strange, ethereal feeling - Eliot could feel it with Quentin, too. 

“One day though,” Quentin responded, “I’ll get here first and buy you coffee and make you taste a latte.”

Eliot made a gag face and Quentin giggled, their legs rocking together easily. Eliot’s legs were so long, Quentin felt completely warmed up by their size.

Quentin made an exasperated sound and simply sipped his coffee. He didn’t know much what to say today - usually they were non stop talkers, conversation with each other as natural to them as breathing, but Quentin’s heavy eyes, trying to avoid Eliot’s gaze, betrayed a cloudiness that concerned Eliot. It wasn’t just tiredness, it was something else stirring in his soul.

Eliot reached his arm across the table and took Quentin’s hand. Quentin did likewise, and they held each other’s arms, comforting each other up to the elbow. They didn’t say anything at first, Eliot lovingly rubbing Quentin’s arm with his fingers.

“When your God awful class today is over, let’s go out to lunch,” Eliot said with cautious chipperness, “I’ll meet you there and we’ll go.” He smiled softly. “If you want to, that is.”

Quentin’s sad smile turned a little brighter. “I’d love that. Where would we go?”

Eliot grinned mischievously. “Oh honey, don’t worry about that. I got us covered.”

-

Eliot sat outside Quentin’s classroom, a vast lecture hall of well over a hundred students, peering in slightly through the glass windows - but it wasn’t hard for Eliot to spot the grey beanie and that precious young man wearing it. Eliot truly admired how dedicated and unflinching Quentin was when listening to lecture - even in a crazy “Advanced Calculus I” class. Eliot found it curious but absolutely adorable when Quentin would shake his hand out after furiously working on something - he did it a lot when they sat in the cafe and studied together - when they weren’t talking almost endlessly about anything but school.

“Looking good, Coldwater,” Eliot called out to Quentin as he left the classroom.

Quentin smiled shyly and nodded his head in a sweet greeting to Eliot. Eliot absolutely loved the curious way he carried his books, one hand under it and the other on top. In two strides he was before Quentin, seizing his ridiculously lengthy calculus book and notebook out of his hands before he could protest. His fingers balanced the books on his hip, while his other hand reached for Quentin’s hand. They locked together so naturally. 

“I have a book bag you know,” Quentin said smilingly, rubbing his thumb on the side of Eliot’ hand,  bigger than Quentin’s which made it all the more delicious for him.

“And you didn’t put your books in them, as usual,” he replied smartly, opening Quentin’s book bag for him and sliding the books in. Eliot swung their hands together gently, mouvering Quentin out the way he had come in. The crisp magic of fall filled the air. The leaves were turning brown and falling off the trees - Eliot noted amusedly that Quentin would purposely go out of his way to step on a crunchy leaf.

“Where are you taking me?” Quentin asked, Eliot picking up speed and pulling Quentin along.

Eliot laughed. “I’m sure you’ve seen it before, it’s right next to your fortress of a university.”

They only walked a bit more before Eliot stopped. “Here we are!”

Quentin wrinkled his nose, looking up at a grinning Eliot, then around himself. “I don’t understand.”

“The Columbia Sunday Greenmarket!” Eliot said excitedly, “they’re open on Thursdays, too.”

Quentin felt his nose and cheeks grow red. He didn’t know what Eliot was up to, but whatever it was he cherished it.

“I grew up on a farm, dear Quentin,” Eliot said casually as he walked Quentin through the bustling stalls dotted with students, visitors from the local hospital, university faculty, and local residents with the scent of herbs and spices swirling in the air. The stalls were filled to the brim with everything and anything: milk, fruits and vegetables, eggs, cheese, smoked meats, and the like. Eliot stopped at a stall with cider and pressed fifty cents into the hand of the vendor, grabbing a small cup of hot apple cider and handing it to Quentin.

Quentin smiled and thanked Eliot, sipping gratefully. “And that means what exactly?” he asked, setting the cup down and rubbing his hand over his mouth. Quentin, with his other hand still firmly rooted in Eliot’s fingers, pressed closer to Eliot’s body. He looked up with quizzical eyes, and caught his breath. He wondered in this moment if Eliot would kiss him on the lips. Despite their different heights, Quentin leaned his face in a bit, very aware of the heat of Eliot’s breath on his cheek. He was just starting to close his eyes and wait for it to happen, but instead Eliot - as if knowing Quentin’s intentions - simply ran his fingers in Quentin’s bangs, tucking them behind his ear, and guided him over to a stall of fresh vegetables and fruits.

 

Quentin’ shoulders rolled back, a bit disappointed - he desperately craved Eliot’s attention, and every touch and smile of his made Quentin want more of him. But Quentin was too terrified to make that first move. He was beginning to think he had done something wrong, and censured himself for being so awkward and foolish.

Eliot picked up a tomato and breathed on it. “If I can see you in the tomato's reflection, then it is the perfect one.” He rubbed the red skin of tomato and held it out for Quentin, who smirked. “Looks like it is perfect, after all,” he said as Quentin flushed.

“What are we making?” Quentin asked giddily, forgetting his disappointment completely.

“ _ I _ am making  _ you _ an Italian grilled chicken salad.” He started to load up on the ingredients at the stall. “We’ll somehow have to maneuver around my irritating as fuck roomates to use the kitchen, but I’ll scare them out.”

Quentin shook his head, causing his little beanie to go lopsided. Eliot stopped what he was doing and fixed it for him.

“Why not?” Eliot asked. Now Eliot was scared he himself had done something wrong. Maybe all of this was too forward and weird for Quentin, and usually Eliot romantically was anything but forward. This was something so different he couldn’t wrap his curly head around it.

_ I want to have you alone, _ Quentin almost said. “Julia and James aren’t out of class until one, our kitchen is fine and I-um, well never use it because I can’t cook for shit.” Quentin lived on the usual student “diet” of ramen noodles and coffee and not much else. “So we don’t bother your roomates, and all of that.”

Eliot looked away, feeling an almost painful, crippling shyness that no doubt colored his cheeks, but his smile remained. “Um, okay. I’d like that.” And he squeezed Quentin’s hand tenderly to let him know so.

-

Eliot was amused by Quentin and James’s apartment, it was more spacious than his three-room suite at CUNY with his roommates. Some of the walls and beams were cracked, but it somehow made it all the more charming. “Nice place.” He looked into the room nearest the entrance. “Is this room yours?” It was too splotless to  _ possibly _ be Quentin’s.

Quentin panicked. He did _ not _ want Eliot to see his bedroom through the glass doors that led into it. It was fanboy-y as fuck, but he also had his depression medication laying about and absolutely did not want Eliot to even get a glance at them.

“Yeah, um, no, that’s James’s room. Mine is way more chaotic.” He jerked Eliot away and into the kitchen before Eliot could ask to see his room. “Yeah--here it is--the kitchen, that is. Like I said, I don’t even know how to cook but we can try?”

Eliot could see the panic in Quentin’s eyes, a redness speaking of embarrassment and terror across his cheeks and nose. Eliot frowned a little, feeling terrible about his jests about seeing Quentin’s room, and dropped the subject.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling a little, reluctantly letting go of Quentin’s fingers to get started, going over to the sink to wash his hands, “well like I told you, I’m cooking for you, Q.”

A grin broke through the storm on Quentin’s face. He went to Eliot’s side - perhaps a bounce to his step? - as Eliot began cleaning the tomatoes and vegetables. “I can’t let you do it alone, do you expect me to just sit here? Never, El.” He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, reaching into the market bag just as Eliot did - their hands touching with an electrifying start. “I’m helping you.”

Eliot stepped around Quentin, and wrapped his arms around his, lining them up together - just as they had at bowling - with the most gentle touch, as he smiled into Quentin’s hair.

“I’ll show you how to do it properly, then,” Eliot said quietly in Quentin’s ear, which drew a small sigh out of Quentin.

The height difference between them was a bit awkward at first, but their bodies quickly became seamlessly in sync.

Eliot had kissed Quentin on the cheek in greeting and goodbye several times now, but he _ so _ wanted to kiss the top of Quentin’s head as they worked. Eliot’s deft hands guided Quentin’s through the chopping and mixing, vigilant of Quentin’s shaky hands so he wouldn’t accidentally cut himself with the knife. It was a struggle a little bit but as usual they found their perfect rhythm, laughing and joking and smiling all the way through the process. 

Once the salad was cut up and the chicken to go with it in the oven, Quentin sat himself on the kitchen counter.

“So now we wait?” Quentin asked, swinging his legs a little. His fingers reached to the left over cabbage and began to pick at it.

“We wait,” Eliot agreed, leaning back against the refrigerator. “Stop playing with the food.”

Quentin pursed his lips, the skin on his face alight. “What are you gonna do if I don’t?” He grabbed two extra tomatoes from the cutting board. “I can juggle.”

Eliot grinned, stepping forward. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, and I can show you.” God, did Quentin wish he had magical powers to do the trick, and not fuck it up as he was apt to do, but that wasn’t reality. So he just began juggling the tomatoes, to the apparent delight cast across Eliot’s features.

Eliot stepped closer to grab the tomatoes spinning in the air and missed. He laughed and tried again, this time smacking one out of orbit.

Eliot didn’t even bother to look where it landed - he really didn’t give a fuck, his eyes never left Quentin’s face, laughing into his sparkling eyes. He weakly went to grab for the other tomato in Quentin’s hand as they giggled, but he didn’t yank it away - he simply put his hand over Quentin’s fingers that gripped onto it.

When their giggles began to calm, they more clearly looked at one another with adoration that reflected in their hues. The silence between them was palpable, even more so of the breaths between them.

Eliot’s fingers let go of the tomato. He brushed the hair out of Quentin’s eyes so he could look deeper into them. And then he leaned in.

His lips pressed so gently against Quentin’s that it took Quentin a moment to register Eliot’s lips were on his own. He absolutely marveled at what was happening - it was so strange and new and nothing he expected - but much, much more. He had to catch his breath before he kissed back, a soft and sweet response to something that electrified all of his senses.

Quentin pulled back a little and their lips broke apart in a light smack. “I’m sorry…” he whispered. He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but it was always in his nature to do so.

Eliot shook his head, face afflicted with expressions of  _ deep _ affection for Quentin. “No, don’t,” he responded breathlessly. He took Quentin’s hand in his. “But can I kiss you again?”

Quentin flushed the deepest red, and chuckled shyly. He couldn’t speak, only shake his head yes, and slowly open his legs so Eliot could get in closer to him.

Eliot stroked Quentin’s cheek, his eyes getting lost in the shock of Quentin’s beauty. Eliot couldn’t believe he could have been so blessed, to have been able to kiss and touch such a pure and kind person as Quentin.

He chased Quentin’s lips, and their mouth opened up underneath each other. It was tender and feather light but ardent in the way they their lips moved together so easily. Eliot could taste the apple cider on Quentin’s lips that still lingered. He had one hand laced with Quentin’s fingers, but with the other he almost involuntary ran his hand up Quentin’s back and very delicately grasped the back of his neck. Quentin’s eyes sprang open with a heavy sigh in surprise at this, the kiss becoming more intense and passionate rather quickly, but he  _ utterly  _ melted into it, eyes closing, his hand touching Eliot’s side with an affectionate touch that made Eliot squirm.

Eliot could feel Quentin smiling into the kiss, and it made him simper all the more. He groaned into Quentin’s mouth, so pressed together it couldn’t be possible to be so any more. The rush of emotion hit Eliot like lighting: terror was there, but joyousness and passion and affection beyond belief swirled around. It was nothing he had ever experienced before, nor thought he would: it was so tender and romantic and Eliot didn’t feel at all he deserved it, especially from Quentin. He could feel himself becoming utterly devoted to Quentin, and it was frightening, but dammit if it didn’t awaken something beautiful in his soul that he thought was all this time missing.

“Quentin...” Eliot breathed into his mouth, squeezing Quentin’s hand so tightly, before kissing him again.

“Yes, Quentin, are ya’ll gonna let us share in the food?” A very unwanted voice echoed behind them.  _ James. _

Eliot pulled back a little, and wanted to pretend he was just hearing things and keep kissing Quentin, but he heard Julia smack James and it made him turn round, his hand sliding back down Quentin’s back with the greatest reluctance he ever have felt. They didn’t even hear them come in.

“I told him not to interrupt,” she said apologetically. She grabbed his arm. “We’ll just go.” She pulled James away, but her eyes were smiling at Quentin as she slid into James’s room and closed the door.

“I’m sorry,” Quentin said, his hand still on Eliot’s side and fingers in his hand. He looked down, completely embarrassed, eyes decidedly averted from Eliot’s.

But Eliot wasn’t having that. He put his finger under Quentin’s chin and raised up his eyes to his own. “I _ enjoyed  _ kissing you, Q...and you know, if you want for that to keep happening, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Quentin smiled softly. “I would like that a lot.”

“Are you okay though?” Eliot asked with concern, giving Quentin a peck on the lips. “You seemed so sad earlier. I couldn’t bear to see you that way. Can I ask what happened?”

Fear grew in Quentin’s eyes. He hated admitting shit like this--he actually almost never did, except to Julia. “Um-yeah, I have this dumbass presentation for my medieval art history class, and God…” Quentin’s eyes bore trust in Eliot’s confidence. “It’s so hard for me, El. I’m so….” _Awkward_. But he didn’t finish his sentence. It was more than nervousness for Quentin, it terrorized him to the depths of his soul.

“You’re so good, Q,” Eliot finished for him, “I can help you, because you know, art history is my thing, and like, presentations aren’t bad for me even though I’m literally dying on the inside doing them.”

Quentin was surprised. “You get embarrassed too?”

Eliot looked seriously at Quentin. This was honesty he never had with anyone; he’d never admit he was just a shy boy from Indiana and not some confident dude from someplace who waltzed seamlessly into New York City. His thumb rubbed over Quentin’s knuckles. “You have no idea.”

But Quentin did. “Thank you for telling me.” He bit his lip. “I’d love your help, if you’re into a guy who stutters and turns red fast.”

“I’m just good at pretending,” Eliot said with a sad smile, running his fingers through Quentin’s hair. He swore he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. “But you, I like you just how  _ you _ are. You don’t need to pretend.”

Quentin eyes were glittering with the threat of tears himself. “Okay.”

Eliot leaned in and delicately kissed Quentin on the lips. “Okay.”


	4. oh dear heart, why him?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everything inside me looks like  
> Everything I hate  
> You are the hope I have for change  
> You are the only chance I'll take
> 
> \- "On Fire", Switchfoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first I'd like to say, while I always update within two weeks rather consistently (though I usually stretch it until the last day of those two weeks though maybe it will be better now that work/school is over lmao), I recently graduated from college (and off to uni in the fall!) so that is why this is a few days "late."
> 
> I'd like to extend a thanks to Mel (annis) and Ari (clarapaget) for being constant supporters through this chapter that seemed a bit tricky for Ash and me because of the very serious subject matter.
> 
> And NOW, for a little context in the fic:
> 
> I never, ever liked how the show never explored Eliot being sexually taken advantage of by his Brakesbills professor, so I explored to this issue to an extent within this fic in this chap that perhaps that isn't the first time he was the victim of a predatory teacher.
> 
> And second! Ash and I have this nutty idea (that will be in the epilogue fixit) that Martin Chatwin made Mike a little Quentin like (at least clothes wise lmao), but also stole Quentin's lines that Quentin had used kindly on Eliot. So you'll see references to that!

_ Are you okay?  _ was Quentin’s words that haunted Eliot as he gripped desperately at the sink in his bathroom.

“ _ God damn it!” _  Eliot snapped at himself in the mirror. He looked up at himself with ferocious eyes, his lips trembling as he sucked in air. 

Two days prior to his date with Quentin - the  _ beautiful _ lunch, the fun helping him with his presentation that night - Eliot decided to go cold turkey on _ every _ shitty thing he had assaulted his body with. He recounted in his head everything he had taken rather consistently up until about five days ago: coke, ex, ICE, dropping acid, plus Eliot’s oldest friend booze. At least the chemsex shit was out - he hadn’t touched them since the very first night with Quentin over a month ago.

He felt at once paranoid and anxious and nauseous, his breathing frightfully shallow as he panted through a hurricane of sweat. Eliot’s roomates hadn’t even _bothered_ to see if he was okay, not even wondering what all cries and bumps were. It had been three demoralizing, arduous days and he was trying to just ride this shit out all by himself - he felt too ashamed to go to a professional detox center, so he went the very dangerous self detox route: with the _only_ person who would very much insist he go _not_ knowing what was wrong. He could imagine Quentin taking his hand tenderly, rubbing his back, embracing him, encouraging him….but Eliot doubted Quentin would want anything to even do with what fucking disaster he was. 

He briefly thought about the class he was missing this morning: Art in the French Renaissance. But he didn’t himself miss that class _ at all _ : he felt so disgusted with himself when thinking about it. When he talked to his professor about his average grade - late night partying, all that - he got on that first quiz, the professor gave him a proposition: sex and an A, or no sex and whatever grade Eliot could makeup. Like pretty much all the men Eliot fucked, he was into weird shit (the particular professor got pleasure out of hooking nipple clamps to Eliot’s body) and Eliot was only beginning to realize now...he was being taken advantage of. It was only a tiny bit of realization he pushed to the back of his mind, but it was there.

_ “Quentin,”  _ he said under his breath as he shook violently over the sink trying not to puke (again.)  _ “I’m so sorry.” _   
  


_ “Eliot?” Quentin asked, taking his hand. “Are you okay?” _

_ Everything was spinning around Eliot. Sweat beaded his forehead, hands trembling noticeably. “I think I need to go, Q. I’m so sorry.” _

_ With a tender kiss to the side of Quentin’s mouth, he left in a rush. _

 

Eliot didn’t realize how bad it would get, and how  _ fast _ that his withdrawal would manifest. He helped Quentin through the anxieties of his presentation, cheering on and smiling and giving suggestions, mixed in with a great many comfort kisses - and man, were they soft and sweet and intoxicating. Quentin with his floppy haired head in Eliot’s lap as Quentin nervously recited his speech, Eliot’s calming fingers in his hair. “I’ll be there at your class to see you do it,” Eliot promised Quentin through kisses.   
Then a sudden break of sweat, trembling of the chin, a ragged breath. Quentin had quickly noticed when Eliot spaced out for a moment. Eliot left in haste. 

He had got home and was in absolute _ misery. _ Three days of gruesome suffering, and today was the day he was supposed to see Quentin perform. He barely was able to text Quentin that morning (was it morning? He wasn’t sure), “I’m sorry, Q. I can’t make it.”

_ I’ve fucked this one up for absolute good _ , Eliot hissed angrily at himself, unable to meet his own eyes in the mirror.

-

“So he didn’t call you last night, or the night before. He’s sick, Quentin,” Julia offered her best friend as he sat on their living room couch, hugging his knees to his chest. “And your presentation was great, he’ll be really proud of you when you tell him about it.”

Quentin lowered his head more, and didn’t say anything.

Julia patted Quentin on the head. “Stop moping, Q. I swear to God.”

“I probably did something wrong,” Quentin said quietly.

Julia nodded with a mocking smile. “Your presentation made him  _ sick _ , of course you did something wrong.”

Quentin looked up at her and winced.

“You know I’m joking!” she cried. “You texted him back, that’s all you can do.”

When Quentin had got the text that morning he was already very troubled from several days of silence, and then heartbroken when he read it. He simply texted back, “Okay. Get better! :)” And worried about Eliot all through the presentation, feeling the ache of his absence even as he did a genuinely good job in spite of the severe anxiety.

Julia shifted out of her seat next to Quentin and walked behind him. “I mean, I get why you're sad. I saw you guys kiss - that first one though, when your legs opened like a flower! He’s totally good and experienced at fucking, you can tell.”

Quentin jerked. “Jules, Jesus fuck!”

“He’s gonna run his hand up your back, under your shirt like this,” Julia teased, imitating the motion on Quentin’s back, “and he’s going to take _ all  _ of you.”

Quentin turned a deep crimson, tingling underneath Julia’s soft but determined touch. For the briefest of moments, he let himself imagine it  _ was _ Eliot’s adept hand running across his spine, cold rings against Quentin’s warm skin as Eliot’s fingers snaked up underneath his shirt with the most sensuous touch. Quentin sighed longingly.

Then he turned around and lightly smacked Julia’s hand away.

“He’s not like that,” Quentin said curtly. “I don’t think.”

Julia slid her arms around Quentin’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head.“Q, you’re about to get  _ wrecked _ okay? Just wait for him to feel better, then he’ll make  _ you _ feel better.”

He looked up at her. “You’re not making me feel better, Jules.”

She frowned in a jesting way. “Is there anything that I can do to actually make it better?” She thought a moment, before cutting off whatever Quentin’s reply was going to be. “I have an idea. Can you wait out your worries until tomorrow morning, say, an hour before your class?”

Quentin was suspicious, but nodded.

She kissed his hand. “I know what you wanna do with this, go have fun in the shower and I’ll set shit right.”

Quentin flushed. “You’re the fucking worst.”

-

Eliot wasn’t sure what time of the day it was when he woke up; everything was so dizzying he could barely make out what was in the room. He only figured that it must be morning because he heard his band of idiot roomates whining about going to class.

He rested his face in his hands; the cravings were more acute than ever. And somehow though the pain had largely subsided, his unhelpful thoughts told him it would be okay to have a little bit of whatever, it won’t hurt anything!

_ Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up!  _ he snapped at himself. He had already poured out or flushed away anything that was leftover, but his dealers were only a text away. Hell, his roommates most definitely had shit in their rooms to plunder that he could pay them back for later. They'd all been upset Eliot had abstained the last month from partying with them, so hey! They would love to have their ringleader back!

He’d totally fucked everything up now: school yeah he had been doing that, but this  _ one thing _ that brought him a rush a joy underneath _ all _ the insecurity and terror was so over and he never hated himself more for it -- even more so as he knew how this all totally would end, with him alone and losing someone who he thought too good and pure for him.

A piercing sound rang in his ears that made Eliot clutch at them, then the glass floor mirror cracked violently into little, jagged pieces. 

Eliot was absolutely horrified. His powers again, unpredictable and out of control and always doing something to scare him.

“El,” he heard Oroitz say with a loud bang on his door that made Eliot jump. “Somebody’s here to see you, come hang later tonight we got the good shit, hot guys and ICE and all.”

Eliot scrambled to his.  _ It can’t be. _

-

Quentin rang the doorbell at the bottom of the City College dorm building.

“Jules, how did you even….” He reddened. “He’s going to think I’m some sorta stalker or some shit.”

“No, he’ll be  _ happy  _ to see you,” Julia gently chastised, “it’s not like we haven’t seen his building before. You could have easily asked someone here which pad is his.”

“Okay but how did you--”

She pressed her elegant finger to his buzzing lips. “I am a resourceful cunt as you know, you needn’t ask how I did it.”

Quentin couldn’t help but smirk at that.

A churlish voice answered back at the ringing. “Who the fuck is it? It’s fucking 8 A.M.” Quentin recognized the voice, though more hangover sounding than he remembered at the cafe. “It’s Quentin. Quentin Coldwater.” His heart constricted. What if Eliot was in earshot and told Oroitz he didn’t want to see him? “From the cafe, Eliot’s….friend. I came to see him.” He wasn’t sure exactly  _ what  _ to call Eliot, right now. They were more than friends, yet…..

“Whatever,” Oroitz replied. For an alarming moment, Quentin thought Orotiz was rejecting his request - and Quentin wasn’t sure if it was unwelcome or not: if it was rejection, he could leave, his anxiety subsided, but regret...regret he wasn’t able to do it.

But the door clicked, and he looked with a puffy red face and terrified eyes at Julia.

“Tighten your shit, Coldwater,” she demanded.

Quentin barely nodded, the faintest tremble of his chin. “Yes, Ma-am.”

-

_ Third floor, room 304 _ . Quentin repeated it to himself over and over, so much he was starting to make himself nauseous.

When he got to it he could swear his heart skipped beats. He lingered outside the door for a while, pacing back and forth, leaning against the wall across Eliot’s dorm suite. He averted his eyes when other students passed by with curious eyes.

Then the door swung open with a loud bang, and Oroitz tumbled out. He saw Quentin and grimaced. He knew Quentin was the reason Eliot had abandoned him and Perida and the rest of the gang that they had formed over a year ago. He had a jealousy of it - Eliot had never bothered to hit on him, but he’s falling for  _ this _ guy?

Oroitz measured Quentin with his eyes, and smirked. He pettily wondered what Eliot even saw in him, so short and timid and almost frail compare the usual hulking men he fucked. “You gonna come in?” Oroitz asked icily, adding with the intent to scare Quentin, “He’s a fucking mess right now, just so you know, Quintus.” (At least he assumed Eliot was, smashing and crying about in his room for all these days, being a noisy as fuck pain in the ass.)

Quentin furrowed his brows. Calling him not only the wrong name on purpose, but an Ancient Roman name. So academic and smart! “Okay.”

Quentin lowered his eyes and glided past Oroitz into the dorm room. But he felt the hectoring presscense of Oroitz right behind him, before he pushed Quentin aside to beat him to Eliot’s door.

Quentin bit his cheeks when Oroitz smuggly wailed to Eliot about “hot guys” and “ICE” (whatever the fuck ICE was).

Quentin’s gaze now rose up, firm and hard. He wasn’t going to let this fuck intimidate him. Though he felt himself torn up about the “hot guys” comment - he didn’t even want to think of Eliot fucking around with random guys, it filled Quentin with jealousy, but _ far _ more so,  _ concern for Eliot. _

Quentin’s challenging and resolute gaze actually chastened Oroitz, who cowardly walked briskly past Quentin.

He breathed out with trembling lips.  _ Will he open it? Knock again, myself? Start to open the door? No you, you fucking idiot! _

An incredibly buzzing hand reached out, a gentle fist formed, ready to knock - but then he heard his voice.

_ “Come in.” _

Eliot’s tone was casual and cautious, and yet...filled with warmth that Quentin feel less anxious.

Quentin touched the doorknob shakily, and slowly, he opened it into Eliot’s room. His eyes first went to everything that  _ wasn’t _ Eliot - who was absent from the scene, despite his voice. Quentin looked about wonderingly, and took in what he found peculiar: Eliot was neat, like, super neat? Floor length posters of Queen and Freddie and Elton decked out his walls, but everything else seemed pristine. (He of course, wasn’t aware of all the bongs that had stuffed the shelves. But then again those were very well organized.)

Quentin’s wide eyes locked in on the broken glass, just as Eliot stumbled a little out the bathroom, wiping at his mouth - he had felt immediately sick to his stomach and fled to the sink to release. He had vomited it up everything, and now he was only hacking up water.

“Jesus fuck, are you okay!?” Quentin cried, immediately running over to Eliot without a thought.

Eliot’s eyes were completely averted, his curls bouncing wildly about. Quentin pulled him to his bed and sat him down gently. He lowered himself to his knees, looking concernedly at Eliot’s hands, arms, and finally his face for blood from perhaps cutting himself on the mirror.

“Quentin…” Eliot began shakily, biting at his own cheeks. His bottom lip trembled with a severity that was striking. 

_ Just tell him, and it can all be over and done! _

Eliot squeezed Quentin’s hands; he felt it would be the last time he’d ever do it, after what he was about to say. His gaze lifted to Quentin’s, whose velvety brown eyes were as arrestingly beautiful as ever - haunting in their immense display of warmth and empathy.

“ _ Quentin _ ,” Eliot breathed, ” I’m sick, but it’s not a cold.”

Quentin’s eyes were unflinchingly soft and welcoming as he looked into Eliot’s sparkling hues, a sad smile forming his lips. He couldn’t believe…but Eliot jumped in, into whatever this was, and Quentin knew he had to join him. “I know how that is...I-I’m sick too.” He raised a hand to his temple. “In here.”

Quentin searched Eliot’s eyes for rejection or cringe or alarm, but instead  _ all _ he felt was empathy and deep affection looking back at him in the most genuine way.

He took one of Eliot’s hands to his mouth and kissed it gently.

Eliot breathed sharply, gaze unwavering on Quentin’s handsome face. “I was on a lot of drugs before I met you, Q.” He looked away, but Q gently took Eliot’s chin in his other hand and had him look in his eyes. Eliot squeezed Quentin’s fingers. “I was partying too hard, but you made me want to change….”

The tears that had threatened to fall that day in the kitchen, finally streamed down his face. He touched his own hand to his cheek at the hot sting that his tears caused, and he was _ mortified,  _ but he couldn’t control it now. He couldn’t speak even one more word because he knew he’d choke out a sob. God, he hated crying more than anyone. It was physically  _ painful _ for him to do.

_ Fuck you, Eliot!, _ he castgated himself,  _ fuck you for being so God damn weak! _

“I’m sorry,” Eliot was finally able to say without weeping. “I’m so so-”

“Please, don’t,” Quentin said softly, wiping at his own eyes. “I-I, um, yeah, I-I’m sorry, but don’t be sorry.” He smiled sadly at Eliot, before leaning into kiss his tears away. Eliot closed his eyes and let Quentin do it, feeling so undeservedly cherished by him.

Quentin was such a radiant spirit that Eliot wanted to press his body so deeply into him to just feel a pale shadow of what it was to be like that.

_ This isn’t like myself, _ Eliot thought wonderingly. There was no other person in the world who knew about his past, and how deeply he was able to feel. Quentin saw in Eliot his incredible emotional intelligence, even though Eliot couldn’t. In turn, Eliot saw in Quentin the beauty of his mind, even though Quentin couldn’t see that about himself.

Quintin pulled back very slightly, fixated on Eliot’s face with intense fondness shining in his eyes. Eliot bit his lip, and brushed the hair out of Quentin’s eyes. Quentin reached out and softly touched Eliot’s curls bouncing on his forehead.

“Thank you,” Quentin said with utter devotion, “Thank you so much.”

Eliot was wide eyed, and found himself looking away again. “For what?” he asked uncertainly.

The smile Eliot gave Quentin was no longer sad, but curiously, genuinely  _ happy _ . Quentin moved his hand from Eliot’s hair to his chin, again turning Eliot’s eyes to look into his own. “For just being you.”

Eliot felt his lips curve, returning Quentin’s infectious smile. “Well...here I am.”

Quentin leaned in and stroked Eliot’s cheek. “Well here  _ we  _ are.”

_ We. _

Such a tiny word that held such a heavy weight to Eliot. Even in all the self loathing and extreme fright, he found it so incredibly touching for Quentin to say that.  _ We, _ Eliot thought,  _ I can fucking get used to that... _

He grabbed Quentin by the wrist lightly, turning it over to kiss the inside of it. Then he leaned in and caught Quentin’s lips between his, eyebrows furrowing passionately as they both gave in to one another.

Eliot’s hand ran up Quentin’s spine and wrapped his fingers around the back of his neck. Quentin _ loved _ when he did that, especially when Eliot brushed his thumb over his cheek with perfect delicentess.

Eliot murmured kindly into Quentin’s mouth as they kissed, “And thank you for being you, Q. And you never, ever, ever have to be sorry to me.”

Quentin chuckled lightly, sniffing from the tears that had dampened his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind, especially when I  _ inevitably  _ get on your nerves.”

Eliot joined in Quentin’s laughter, but his heart swelled at the meaning behind Quentin’s words -- the way they strongly alluded to a future,  _ together. _

“If you’re...um, up to it,” Eliot began, “on Saturday, we should like, go on a picnic. I know this place in Central Park…”  _ That God, Q, you’d love. _

“Only if you’re feeling okay…” Quentin said kindly but with deep concern.

“I’ll try to be,” Eliot promised, kissing Quentin on the forehead.

“Let me...try to clean all that glass up for you.” Eliot was about to protest, but Quentin silenced him with a smooch. “I’m going to go get you water. Lay down and while you relax, I’ll clean this all up and then I’ll sit with you.”

Eliot shook his head a little, but he knew better even now to not contradict Quentin. He simply laced his long fingers with Quentin’s, and grinned. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Quentin echoed, kissing Eliot one last time before he got up to help take care of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments of course not necessary!!! but really appreciated & is life!!!! :))))


	5. the celestial in your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I bet you could sometimes find all the mysteries of the universe in someone's hand.”
> 
> ― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by the wonderful parallelbeatle. <33333 PLEASE check out her blog on tumblr under username parallelbeatle and instagram account under username lydiaekimar! She does commissions and is a magicifent joy in general. <333333333

The wind whipped Quentin’s hair as he leaned over the balcony, closing his eyes and taking in the cool breeze on his face. It was sunny after a few days of seemingly endless cloudiness, and Quentin took it as a good sign...for what he wanted to ask Eliot.

Who was the most brilliant bastard  _ ever. _

Quentin didn’t know this place existed. Belvedere Castle, nestled in Central Park. Its name gave resonance to its meaning “beautiful view.” (But this wasn’t the particular beautiful view Quentin truly wanted most….)

Doves chirped overhead, and a hawk squawked from the tip top of the castle, which was a Victorian Folly to evoke a storybook-like fantasy structure, with its carefully laid stone facade and magnificent turret topped with the U.S. flag and the most beautiful panoramic perhaps in all New York in its background.

Quentin smiled despite the butterflies that seized his stomach. Eliot knew him so well already. A castle! Of course Eliot would go to those lengths for his Q.

“Quentin!” Eliot called out when he saw him, and Quentin snapped a kind look at him. Eliot looked so much better! The color had returned to his cheeks, and he wasn’t hunched in excruciating pain from the withdrawal.

Taking Quentin into a warm embrace, he leaned down and gave him a lingering kiss on the temple. There had to be at least half a foot between them in height, but Eliot didn’t mind at all having to bend down. He ravished in enveloping Quentin in his arms, taking in the scent of sandalwood in his moppy hair. When Quentin’s feet lifted off the Earth to stand on their tiptoes, like in this moment, Eliot held him up gently by the waist.

Quentin’s eyes widened with a sparkle to his hues when he saw the magnificent picnic basket at Eliot’s side. “I told you not to go to so much trouble,” Quentin chided smilingly, reaching for the basket.

Eliot moved it back out of Quentin’s grip. “Absolutely not, you are not carrying it.” He grinned. “Something for you first though.”

Quentin bit his bottom lip as Eliot opened the basket slightly - enough to reach his bejeweled hand in, but not enough for Quentin to see its contents. Truly, Eliot had gone _ all out _ ; the basket was a wooden creation with intricate carvings, with flowers entwining around the sides. It looked like a small chest you might find in...a fairytale castle?

Eliot whipped out a decorative silken handkerchief and Quentin looked confused but also very interested. “Turn around,” Eliot said kindly.

Quentin furrowed his brows, but his smile remained. “...Okay.” And he did so slowly.

From behind, he felt Eliot’s hot body near up against him, and his steady breathe on his neck, and Quentin sighed. The feeling of cold rings graced his cheeks as Eliot pulled the handkerchief over his eyes.  _ Blindfolded! _ Quentin thought excitedly as Eliot tied it behind Quentin’s head.

Eliot took both of Quentin’s hands in his and carefully walked him down the stairs. Sure, he himself was going backwards down a flight of steps, but he certainly wouldn’t trip knowing he had to protect Quentin from doing so.

Quentin’s dimpled grin, the way his cheeks flushed a deep pink, made Eliot always feel tingly all over, his lips parting in amazement of how much Quentin just made him... _ feel _ . He looked ridiculously cute in his black jeans and black tee, wrapped in a simple black hoodie that snugged his lithe frame. And God, that hair whipping in the wind like that? It was absolutely a _ heavenly  _ sight for Eliot all around.   
Over Quentin’s shoulder he could see the greenish lake that ran along the castle shrink away. The particular spot he had in mind was past the gazebo into a beautiful view he so hoped Quentin would love.

Eliot was a careful guide, making sure to warn Quentin of bumps and staying ever vigilant until they got to the desired location.

“Okay, I hate to do this to you,” Eliot began cheekily, “but I need you to just stand here...still blindfolded.”

Quentin grinned. “For what?”

“Ya know, a surprise, all that.”

A flutter in Quentin’s heart caused him to check his breath. Eliot was so ridiculously mysterious, but he loved every minute of it.

But before he got to work, Eliot couldn’t resist kissing Quentin fully. It quite  surprised Quentin, and their lips fumbled together, but it was strangely tantalizing to do it being stripped of sight. 

“Okay,” Eliot breathed out, and Quentin had to catch his breath when Eliot handed something to him. He felt it between his fingers, and flushed. He had a feeling what it was.

Then, Eliot stepped around him, hands gently rounding Quentin’s chest and shoulders. Quentin’s skin prickled out of his nervousness, but when Eliot kissed the back of his neck - so tenderly and sweetly, not a peck but soft lips parted on his skin, Quentin was able to relax a little. Eliot had that strangely calming effect on him that Quentin couldn’t describe.

“E-Eliot…” he sighed deeply at the delicate contact, his chest heaving lightly. It was...celestial, that’s what it was.  _ Celestial. _

He felt the handkerchief being untied behind the mess of his hair, biting his cheek a little in embarrassment that Eliot had a minor struggle getting it loose because strands of hair had got caught in the tie.

Then his eyes were uncovered, revealing in front of him something so breathtaking that he couldn’t speak.

Laid out in this beautiful spot with the gorgeous panoramic of the castle in the background, was the most marvelous thing Quentin thought he had ever saw: 

A full Victorian fantasy-style tea time picnic set up, sprawled across the grass on a lovely blanket. It was decked out with delicate cakes and cookies, little cutesy sandwiches, shining fresh fruit, cheese and fresh cut bread slices and salami, all of it carefully assorted on crystal ceramic and metal plates.

“What do you think?” Eliot asked, squeezing Quentin’s hand. He was nervous, maybe he had gone too far, too much. He had thrifted all throughout the city to find something special for Quentin (living on student loans was a …. pain to say the least), something storybook like that might evoke Fillory even if only a little.

Quentin looked down and saw the glistening red rose between his fingers and flushed the flower’s color. “I-I love it, El.” He was so incredibly touched by it.

Eliot took his hand and pressed it to his lips, before guiding Quentin over to the blanket.

Eliot helped Quentin to sit down as Quentin’s eyes darted in every direction. He for some reason hadn’t noticed the tea set, but it was stunning: a sparkly, clear glass kettle with a blooming pink flower inside, with the matching cups to boot. Eliot had selected a super exotic flowering tea blend that he thought--or dearly hoped--Quentin would find enjoyable.

Quentin felt weirdly bold: he turned around, and laid back, head carefully placed in the protective warmth of Eliot’s lap.

Eliot beamed when he felt Quentin’s head relax on his legs, and brushed the hair out of his eyes, kissing his own fingers and pressing them sweetly to Quentin’s lips,

laughing a little when Quentin nipped at them.

God, Quentin was absolutely  _ breathtaking _ , looking up adoringly at Eliot with those ample, intoxicating brown eyes that made his soul stir madly.

“Oh, Q,” he whispered, so quiet it might have only been air. But Quentin heard it, his smile reaching his eyes.

Eliot’s rapidly beating heart felt so immensely fluttering witt affection and veneration and any and all things that Quentin made him feel, he thought it might fucking burst. He never understood when people said that, about their hearts feeling it might explode--but fuck, this was more than that.

This moment...it was unearthly, enchanting - he had to do it. _ He had to ask. _

“Q,” Eliot began tenderly, saying Quentin’s nickname as if stroking the finest cloth, caressing Quentin’s face, which was as radiant as always, “I think, um..if you’d, like um...Yeah…” Eliot didn’t know how to be eloquent with his words the way he was precise wit how he dressed - he was still that shy boy from Indiana, beneath all the glossy veneer. But he didn’t have time to chastise himself, this moment was for all Quentin, not his usual insecurity.

“I--wanted to ask you, if...you could be, you know, official, boyfriends, all of that. If you want to.”

Quentin sucked in his breath, and his mouth opened a little. Eliot stroked Quentin’s cheek lovingly, but what he replied with Eliot didn’t expect at all: “I,um--yeah I wanted to ask you, like the same thing. I think I was about too…” Quentin moved his head a little and kissed Eliot’s hand, laughing in joy as he did it. “I feel bad I wasn’t the one to ask, because--you deserve that.’

A disbelieving laugh escaped Eliot. He gently put his hands underneath Quentin’s head and rocked his face. “You’re so beautiful, Quentin. You’re….so beautiful, and I-I….” Eliot couldn’t speak at all, his eyes sparkling with such immense joy that deeply touched Quentin. His breathing was heavy, but fuck, he was so enchanted by this boy who was so perfect.

Quentin sat up and turned around to face Eliot. He could feel it, too, that strange connection, preternatural, passionate, heart stopping. It felt almost unreal, dreamlike, but they were both as wide awake as they had ever been.

“You’re beautiful,” Quentin said, pressing his forehead to Eliot’s, who breathed out. “So beautiful.”

Eliot chuckled. His hand tenderly held Quentin by the back of his neck as they passionately melted into one another, as if they were becoming one.

“Eliot…” Quentin sighed, as Eliot’s other hand wrapped around Quentin and pressed him closer. 

But Quentin tipped backwards, and he slowly pulled Eliot down to the ground with him, Eliot uncrossing his legs to follow Quentin’s surprising lead.

But Eliot was feeling a bit daring, too - with careful tenderness, he let his tongue slip slowly between Quentin’s lips. It made Quentin’s eyes open for a moment, but Jesus Christ, it felt so fucking good. He had  _ never _ been kissed like that, and while he reveled in it, it made him kind of nervous. But he recalled things Julia had told him about how James...pleased her. 

So he let his mouth open a little more, to allow Eliot more room to tongue him. And then he started sucking delicately on Eliot’s tongue.

“Fuck, Q,” Eliot whispered shakily into Quentin’s mouth. Nothing had felt so good as Quentin doing that. He desperately wanted to please Quentin.

He let his tongue slide back in the warm expanse of Quentin’s soft mouth, shuddering at Quentin’s gentle sucking.

Eliot then slowly took his tongue out of Quentin’s mouth, stroking Quentin’s cheek as he kissed Quentin on the mouth, then the side of his lips. He traced his eager lips along Quentin’s jaw, nipping at the skin lightly.

“Jesus, fuck,” Quentin panted, grabbing onto Eliot desperately as Eliot trailed his lips along the sensitive skin of Quentin’s neck.

He  ghosted a kiss just above Quentin’s collarbone, feeling the rising and falling of Quentin’s chest as he wet his lips and applied the pressure of his closed mouth to the front left of Quentin’s buzzing throat. He shifted himself more comfortably between Quentin’s legs, which rather braced against Eliot’s hips.

Quentin hummed lowly when Eliot’s mouth opened between kisses, purposely breathing hot air upon his neck between each. But, fuck, if it wasn’t what Eliot did next that nearly killed Quentin - that tender sucking on his neck that caused Quentin to run his fingers through Eliot’s bobbing curls. Eliot chuckled a little when he felt what he  _ swore  _ was Quentin very lightly pulling on his hair.   
“Oh,” Quentin whined. The slow wet kisses and the skin sucking between them made Quentin absolutely  _ breathless, _ Eliot pressing Quentin’s hand in his comfortingly,  rocking their fingers together easily.

Quentin’s body was electrified as he panted beneath Eliot’s delicate but determined touch. It was such an intimate moment, but it only took one long, deep, amorous sucking on Quentin’s skin for him to moan so loudly that his eyes spang open.

“P-public, public,” Quentin mumbled, though he didn’t move even a little. “We’re in public.”

Eliot raised his head up - Christ, did Quentin already miss the contact - and put a hand to Quentin’s cheek.

And then both started laughing heartily.

“You may just be right,” Eliot admitted with a cheeky wink, untangling himself from Quentin’s legs and helping him sit up. They held each other’s hands in Quentin’s lap, fingers laced tight, smiling gaily.

Eliot leaned in to kiss Quentin sweetly on the mouth, and he felt Quentin’s smile grow beneath his lips.

“So...you want to, like, eat?” Eliot teased. He grabbed the glistening tray of little cute sandwiches like an expert waiter and offered one to Quentin, who giggled and grabbed one as Eliot kissed his cheek.

Eliot realized, then, what he needed to do - before this went further.

-

Eliot’s long legs awkwardly sat off the edge of the table, his hands tight around its metal sides as he breathed out and kept his eyes to the ground He took small breaths, and felt intensely cold in the awful patient’s gown.

And he also felt so _ fucking exposed. _

“Mr. Eliot Waugh,” a young doctor said with genuine warmth, walking over to shake hands with him, “I’m Dr. Salus and I’m here to help you today.”

Eliot’s eyes reluctantly met her gaze, but he couldn’t say anything.

She smiled understandingly. “I know it’s scary, but you’re doing the right thing for yourself.”

Eliot looked away. “Yeah.” He absolutely despised the smell of a doctor’s office so much, the disinfectants it was drenched in being a smell of doom than comfort. 

Things had gotten so...intimate with Quentin the other day, and, it was wonderful and strange and so incredibly welcome. And here they were: boyfriends. They were each other’s now, and he needed---he had to keep Quentin safe. He didn’t know how fast it would all go, but he would be devastated and so beyond unforgiving to himself if he gave Quentin anything.

He felt so fucking himiliated. It was awful enough to have his finger pricked and his mouth swabbed, but having to be examined _ there _ … It made him burn angry hot red and want to cry. And it was so hard to hold back as he sat waiting for twenty minutes in this cold ass room half naked. Everything dangerous he had done flickered in his memory, and he found the nurse’s questions about it almost insulting.

“Why today, Eliot?” the doctor asked kindly, pressing her freezing stethoscope to Eliot’s heart. It made him shudder.

“Uh, like, I don’t know,” he said absently. He was never the type to share, at all. All of this was a fucking circus. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” she responded quietly, moving her stethoscope to Eliot’s back and asking him to breathe in and out three times.

He stayed completely silent as she moved back around and took out her otoscope to look inside his ears with care. When she drew back she smiled warmly, and there was something in that smile that made him speak.

“Quentin,” he said, “Um, we’re together. And I don’t want him, hurt or anything, you know?”

For the first time Dr. Salus saw the faintest glimmer of a smile, and she found it incredibly sweet.

“First boyfriend?” she asked innocently.

Eliot shook his head, and blushed a little. “Yeah, real one.” 

She nodded her head approvingly. “He’s very lucky to have someone care so much as you do to do this for him. You’re treating him humanly from the start, you know. You should be proud of that.”

Eliot almost chuckled. “Yeah, well. He’s good, too good.” After a moment he added, “too good for me.”

Dr. Salus put her comforting hand on Eliot’s bare shoulder. “I seriously doubt that. I don’t know him but from what little I know you seem equally as good.”

That brought Eliot back to why the doctor came in the room. “Um, yeah, my results. I’m kinda scared and…”

“You’re safe, Eliot,” she said quickly, and it made Eliot jerk backwards. “I thought--thought some of them would take days. I didn’t expect--”

She nodded. “Well, science is cool, I hope you enjoy your biology course a bit more for it.”

Eliot finally was able to meet her eyes fully. “Um, I--thank you.” He finally smiled. “Thank you so much.” He sniffled a little, but closed his eyes to squeeze away any tears.

Dr. Salus touched Eliot’s hand gently. “I’m so happy for you, Eliot. Keep up the good work, and be kind to yourself. You deserve happiness in or outside a relationship.” She smiled pleasantly. “Now get dressed, and go to Quentin. Have a fun week, Eliot, and don’t miss class again for a doctor’s appointment.”

He pursed his lips. “Yeah, I do that too much -- miss class.” He grinned. “Thank you again.”

She gave him her heartfelt felicitations again, before she left and closed the door behind him so that he could dress in private.

She walked his file back to the laboratory, where with a flick of her fingers made disappear Eliot’s negative samples she’d used with her expert skill of healing magic to see before the usual allotted time what the results were.

She knew a fellow magician when she saw one. She’d do one a favor, this once.

-

Eliot walked out into the sun and breathed in happily the scent of honeysuckle in the air. He checked his phone and lit up with a text from Quentin.

Quentin wrote, “Can’t wait to see you tonight. :) Beware, Jules and James are planning a Halloween party for next week. We’re all gonna die.”

Eliot grinned widely, laughing openly. “Sounds fun, you can pick what we’re gonna wear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments of course not necessary!!! but really appreciated & is life!!!! :))))


	6. I Bond Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was on a trip with Ash so that's why this is about a week 'late'. :)
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! This is a 6k labor of love...and a lot of tears.
> 
> This got sluttier than I maybe indended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Art by the wonderful parallelbeatle! PLEASE check out her blog on tumblr under username parallelbeatle and instagram account under username lydiaekimar! She does commissions and is a magicifent joy in general. <333333333  
> \--
> 
> “Come to me now and loosen me  
> from blunt agony. Labor  
> and fill my heart with fire. Stand by me  
> and be my ally.”  
> ― Sappho

Quentin grinned as he checked out his neck in the mirror, admiring the mark that Eliot so kindly left on him. He sighed as he recalled last Saturday, his toes curling in delight, but also shyness about the noises he made swelling under Eliot’s delicate touch.

They’d spent every morning at the coffee shop together since - always being adorable and so affectionate it might have made people sick if the place had, like, more than three tables. Eliot still refused to let Quentin pay, and  _ always _ had a beautiful latte art in Quentin’s drink that was something reminiscent of a fantasy world-a castle, a sword, a key, a spell book, a potion bottle. He hadn’t told Quentin yet, but Eliot had gone to his university library - for the first time, perhaps ever. Eliot couldn’t recall - and checked out the first Fillory book.

Eliot had trouble reading and it took him a while, but he was quite determined to indulge himself in something Quentin loved so much. So he took it, and he’d pay whatever library fine he’d procure for it being late. Because God knows it would be.

Nights with each other were also almost always a constant thing, and lunch, and everything in between. Eliot had been so openly joyous when he came over the next night after the picnic it filled Quentin with such sweetness.

They also were playing a game of promising to return one another’s things, and not doing it. Quentin’s stained sweater from their first day together was folded neatly in Eliot’s closet - positioned in a particular way so he’d see it every time he got dressed - and the green and metallic gold flecked scarf that had once graced Eliot’s neck sat on Quentin’s bedside. Neither had any intention of returning one to the other.   
And Quentin, despite Eliot being at his apartment every night this week, still hadn’t let Eliot see his room. He actively avoided letting Eliot getting even a peak inside of it. Julia unhelpfully teased about Quentin’s room in front of Eliot, who just smiled sympathetically at a clearly (but adorably) uncomfortable Quentin.

“Your room is badass,” Julia said as she lounged on Quentin’s couch. “Literally is  _ you _ . Plus, you can put your bottles in the bathroom or whatever if you really don’t want him to see them.”

Quentin grimaced in the mirror. “Yeah, because he wouldn’t see them there, right?”

Julia pouted and put her hand out, Quentin walking over to take it. “Scratch your name off, and if he’s a snoop and sees them he’ll assume it’s James, he’s kinda out there you know.”

Quentin grinned. “He’s too boring for that.” He made a mental note to hide them under his bed. 

Eliot thought James was insanely boring and vanilla when they all hung out. He thought it was funny Quintin fancied himself so awkward when it was James that made him cringe in all his….stodginess, and clean jokes, and serial killer-like spotless room. (Even Eliot’s clean room wasn’t so extra.) He also sensed a slight indifference to Julia in his airs, which didn’t sit well with Eliot _ at all. _

Julia scoffed and yanked Quentin down to her level, Quentin toppling over on the couch backwards.

“Jules, fuck!” He rubbed his head and turned around to look at her.

She playfully raised her brows. “So have you picked--”

“No,” Quentin snapped, pulling his knees up to his chest as he was often apt to do when dejection cast over him.

Julia reached out and gently touched her graceful fingers over Quentin’s love bite. “He is quite the body artist.”

Quentin flushed, lazily slapping Julia’s hand away.

“Just don’t pick anything Fillorian,” Julia said firmly, “he probably doesn’t even know what a Fillory is.”

That made Quentin frown. “We always had fun dressing up as the Chatwins, you and me.”

“You’re trying to go off topic, Q. Pick a fucking costume.” She thought a moment. “Something where he’ll have to touch you all over.” She teasingly rubbed her hands down Quentin’s shoulders and chest.

His eyes darted away. Eliot had told Quentin that he’d do their makeup for whatever Quentin picked for them - and now it was two days from the party and he hadn’t told Eliot his decision at all. 

Well, he didn’t really have one to give, anyway.

“He’s clearly super extra,” Julia continued, making Quentin look at her. “How about our long lost favs, before the chosen boy one and Fillory, you know.”

Quentin smiled. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“Of course I do!” she chided, jokingly putting her fist to Quentin’s cheek in a mock punch. “I think he’d make a much better DC character than me.”

“We’ll see,” he responded, thinking back to all the costumes in pairs they’d done since they were six. That first time they dressed up as Taran and Princess Eilonwy from ‘The Black Cauldron’. Barely anyone knew who the fuck they were, but it was Julia and Quentin’s favorite movie to watch together and that’s that. Then their turn into DC comics when they were eight, and that lasted a couple years, where they dressed up one year as Superman and Lois Lane - but Quentin as Lois, Julia as Clark. It was interesting. Then they went ‘darkside’ the year after - those ‘Suicide Squad’ comics, man! - with Julia as Enchantress and Quentin as Deadshot, walking around hooting  _ bang, bang, bitch! _ (Julia told him not to. He got in trouble, of course. And cried about it for days.)

Yeah, he probably wouldn’t tell Eliot about that problematic shit.

“Harley and Poison Ivy?” Julia suggested with amusement in her eyes. “Him as Pamela would be kinda hot. Just saying.”

“Yeah,” Quentin said, rubbing his hands over his legs and squeezing them together.

“I’ll text him.”

Julia kissed him on the forehead. “Good, horny boy.”

-

Eliot got giddy when he saw Quentin’s text. “Harley and Ivy?” he had written. “They are like really cute girlfriends.”

“Love it, Q,” Eliot texted back. “I’ll get all the shit together. Come over on Mon at 5 or something? :) Ya know, after I see you tonight, tomorrow morning, & tomorrow night....”

Eliot raked the city for ideas. He only had a day and a half now to get everything together for the party and he was gonna make it count. Not that he really cared about the party - a strange thing for him, when his only goal for a party was to be the very life of it. But now he only cared about impressing Q, making him happy and comfortable.

He admittedly hadn’t read the comics, or even seen the movies (he looked to see if Harley and Ivy if they were in the new Batman movies. They weren’t. A shame). But he  _ really  _ liked their looks in ‘Arkham’ games - he hadn’t played them, but Quentin mentioned excitedly the night they decided on their costumes how much he loved the ‘Arkham Asylum’ game and was dying for ‘Arkham City’ to come out. 

“It’s-it’s um not until October next y-year,” Quentin had said sadly, “but I hope our girls are in it.”

Eliot kissed Quentin’s cheek. “Just wanna watch you play.” He found it incredibly sweet Quentin’s worry the game might be pushed back and he’d have to wait longer for it, as he brushed his worried boyfriend’s hair out of his face.

Halloween couldn’t come fast enough. Eliot was so fucking excited to have Quentin come over.

He had moved since his ordeal with his trashy old roommates when he was self detoxing, when he appealed to university housing, to another dorm residence in a totally different building. They could only find space in the “quiet wing” - which for Eliot...was a struggle. His roommates were very nice but he was pretty sure he was giving them anxiety with how out there he can be. And as someone who had crippling anxiety himself, Eliot felt kinda bad. One of them worked in the university theatre department, a theatre arts major on the Design and Technical Theatre Track, and Eliot managed to talk him into “borrowing” hair extensions and makeup and costume material from the costume department.

They were also a good influence really in general. Eliot actually joined them in their near silent studying.

Eliot gave Quentin his new address and dorm number, but he decided to wait outside the building for him.

Quentin startled with a smile when he saw Eliot. “Think I’d get lost?” he asked teasingly, bringing Eliot into a hug.

The taller man kissed the top of Quentin’s head, breathing in the scent of his hair. “Couldn’t wait to see you.” He raised Quentin’s chin and pressed his lips to his. “Don’t wanna. Never can, ever.”

It was too painful for him to imagine Quentin being hurt. Of course he’d go outside to make sure he found the right place, and didn’t wander into a bad sort. Eliot held him closer.

Quentin pulled at a loose curl of Eliot’s. “I’m so happy for you finding a new place. You’re so strong.”

Eliot just smiled and looked away for a moment, willing himself not to tear up. “C’mon,” he said, taking Quentin’s hand, “Let me show you it.”

Quentin was truly impressed when he walked in. It wasn’t that it was special or anything, but it was really the feeling inside that made it feel heavenly and peaceful and clean.

Quentin kissed Eliot on the cheek. “You deserve this, El.”

Eliot kissed Quentin on the mouth. “We gotta whisper in here,” he warned with a grin, “maybe not so much in my room, but still.”

“That’ll be hard for us,” Quentin whispered, kissing the side of Eliot’s mouth.

Eliot laughed quietly, his smile reaching his eyes. He led Quentin to his bedroom. The first thing that struck Quentin was the mirror Eliot had broken - suddenly back together.

Eliot’s face went dark when he saw Quentin’s look of confusion.

“I thought I’d tossed all the glass out,” he said wonderingly.

“Yeah, got a new one, from the ya know, same place,” he lied, sounding kinda unconvincing to himself. But then again, what else would Quentin expect? Not magic…

But then Quentin smiled. “This is so nice.”

Eliot’s room was very well lit by big windows and was spacious. He’d got rid of the posters in his old room, and replaced them with smaller and more vibrant ones of his favorite queer musicians.

Eliot sat Quentin down on the limewood chair in the middle of the room, placed out just for him.

“What? You’re not gonna paint your face?” Quentin asked.

“Nah,” Eliot grinned, “just green eye shadow and pink lips and some vines.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to Quentin’s ear, “I wanna focus on painting you.” He pulled back and smooched Quentin’s lips. “I promise I’ll do good, honey.” It was so hard for them to keep their mouths off each other.

Quentin sighed longingly. “I-I trust y-you.”

Eliot’s collection of stage makeup was laid out carefully on the side table. He opened his phone, and showed Quentin what he was going for. “‘Asylum’ Harley--white cheeks, painted purple mask, heavy blush, pigtails.” Eliot gleamed.

“My hair isn’t long enough for pigtails,” Quentin reminded him.

“I have a fix for that,” Eliot teased, picking up the white paint, “but first…”

Eliot painted one big white stripe down Quentin’s face in a quick swipe. It made him laugh when Quentin began to wipe at his mouth. Quentin joined his merriment.

“What was that!” Quentin chuckled, tempted to flick away the paint on his hands.

“Wanted to be able to do this.” Eliot got to his knees and wrapped a hand around lovingly around Quentin’s neck, and kissed him deeply, teasing his boyfriend with his tongue. He tasted the paint, but he didn’t mind. At all. It was Quentin’s taste that overwhelmed his senses.

Quentin pulled back a little, shaking his head smilingly at Eliot. “You’re gonna poison us.” He pressed his hands to Eliot’s shoulders, to keep him from getting back up. “Stay with me here.” 

Eliot was surprised but pleased when he felt Quentin’s hands go to unbutton his shirt. He was terrible at it, but Eliot adored his fumbling fingers. He reached down to guide Quentin’s fingers until he was completely unbuttoned.

“You need, like, um, to get into your costume, eventually, right?” Quentin asked giddily. Then he pulled Eliot’s shirt off his shoulders.

Quentin sucked in his breath, marveling at Eliot’s chest. He hadn’t seen it before, and it was better than he had fantasized. He ran his hands down Eliot’s chest slowly, feeling every muscle and crevice, before raising his eyes to Eliot’s with a cast of severe red across his nose and cheeks. Eliot had white paint on his mouth, and it made Quentin smirk. He didn’t realize he wiped the paint on his hand down Eliot’s chest.

_ God damn _ , Eliot thought to himself, leaning in to gently pull down the collar of Quentin’s top to press his lips sloppily to the vee of his boyfriend’s neck.

They haven't touched each other quite like this before, and it was tantalizing.

Eliot pulled back and bit his bottom lip, looking at Quentin’s lips and admiring them with passion reflected in his eyes. He cupped Quentin’s chin and ran his thumb over them. “Let me finish painting you.”

Oh, how dazed Quentin felt! Light and fluttery and aroused. He squeezed his thighs together as he sat feeling the cool paint applied to his skin.

But Eliot couldn’t help himself. Every place he painted, he kissed Quentin before applying it. He kissed Quentin’s jaw bone, cheek bones, cheeks, nose, forehead, and then his eyes, when he asked Quentin to close them to keep paint out them.

Almost instinctively, Quentin touched Eliot’s hips pulled him between his legs. God damnit, Eliot couldn’t help himself: he kissed Quentin filthily as fuck, mouth open as far possible and tongue ceaseless in his Q’s mouth.

Eliot badly wanted to ask Quentin to show him his tits, so he could suck them. He desired to slip his hand beneath Quentin’s waistband and feel the skin of Quentin’s cock between his fingers, fondling it until his boyfriend just spilled over in his hand. His own member fully hardened at the thought. But he would not do anything unless Quentin asked.

But he didn’t know that Quentin _ also _ wanted him to touch him there, so  _ achingly _ . And he thought for a moment Eliot would slip his hand down there, and make him feel good, but Eliot restrained himself and stood back up the get the purple paint.

The urge to ask Eliot to fuck him, spread open his legs and kiss down his body, was real as hell, to feel his large hands in his secret places and take him right there.

But it also terrified Quentin - he’d done nothing sexual before. For his first time with an experienced man like Eliot....  _ How could I satisfy him?  _ Quentin thought sadly.

Eliot getting back on his knees to paint the purple mask around Quentin’s eyes was so heated, their bodies yearning to rub up against each other. The blush Eliot applied to Quentin’s cheek didn’t do much to cover up his own blushing that cast across his face.

They didn’t speak the whole time, their eyes doing all the talking, between Eliot kissing Quentin tenderly on the mouth. He ended the whole production with a small black heart painted right below Quentin’s left eye.  But as Eliot stood up to get the extensions to put in Quentin’s hair, Quentin leaned in and pressed his lips to Eliot’s belly button.

“Fuck,” he uttered under his breath, running his fingers through Quentin’s stringy hair. He looked down and saw Quentin’s big eyes sparkling as he looked up; he was so _ breathtaking. _ He brushed the hair out of Quentin’s eyes, reveling in the feeling that went to his dick. He then pulled Quentin up to his feet and kissed him fully.

“You’re so bad,” Eliot said hotly into Quentin’s mouth, embracing the shorter man with pure adoration, rubbing Quentin’s slim hips with his fingers.

Quentin flinched a little at that. Had he done something wrong?

Eliot smirked at the innocent confusion in Quentin’s eyes. “Which isn't a bad thing. At all.” He admired his work on his boyfriend’s face. “You look incredible,” he intimated as he pressed a chaste kiss to Quentin’s nose. “Wanna help me with my makeup?”

Quentin’s mind jostled. There was no way he could do anything nearly as magnificent as what Eliot did. Julia would in high school make Quentin her muse and practice makeup and nail painting on him, but she never let him return the favor. “Um, I...O-okay,” he responded uncertainly.

Eliot sat himself down and grinned mischievously. He grabbed for the green eye shadow, popping its top off, handing it and the makeup brush to Quentin. He deftly guided Quentin’s fingers, having him tap the brush in the container, then directing it toward his eyelids. Quentin, however, still completely missed the mark, and tried not to laugh as Quentin patted at his eyelids to smooth out the powder.

Eliot’s inability to hold back by choking on his own laughter made Quentin’s dimples alite and they both snickered like naughty children playing with the adults’ makeup.

“I’ll finish this up,” Eliot said with honeyed tones, kissing Quentin’s hand. “Then I’ll show you what I got for us to wear.”

-

Julia preened, standing on her tiptoes as if her project would get here faster if she did.

“They aren’t here, Jules,” James mumbled, sipping at the drink he mixed for the party. “Maybe your plans aren’t going so well as you think they are.” He looked her up and down with an approving eye. “You look fucking hot as hell, though.”

Julia rolled her eyes. Yeah, _ I do look amazing, punk bitch _ . She always went all out for Halloween, but this was the first year she didn’t dress as a pair with Quentin. So it was a very lonely production that  _ did  _ turned out magnificent: a hooded black witch costume, with flowing silk fabric in the back and a very large opening in the front that exposed her thighs and was only covered by a belted black thong. Glittering knee length, high heel boots that laced to the top completed the incredible vision.

“I’m sure Eliot will have nicer things to say about it than you,” she spat. She had had it with James and his shitty attitude about Quentin.

And oh he did! When Eliot and Quentin, holding hands tightly, wandered into the apartment, Eliot ravished her with compliments.

“You’re a God damned genuis,” he whistled, “and super gorgeous.”

Julia shook her head with a smirk, and let her eyes fall on her best friend. Eliot followed her gaze.

“Dr. Coldwater,” he announced proudly, bowing and spreading out his arms as if a presenter.

Julia clapped her hands in delight and squealed. Quentin flushed a little, but he couldn’t help but grin despite his shyness. Eliot truly had done a wonder with the whole getup, the makeup so elegantly painted, a light and transparent white across Quentin’s features with a painted violet purple mask flecked with glitter and ruby pink blush just beneath it. Julia noted the outfit was no less stunning: Eliot had styled Quentin in pleated white shorts belted around the hips and splashed with vibrant fake blood, which were just above bejeweled tights - one blue, one red - and spotless solid black ankle-length boots. And the top! An intentionally crinkled collared white top, below a gorgeous and intricate red vest that was more corset than anything.

“Love the pigtails, Dr. Coldwater,” Julia beamed at her best friend, before settling her gaze on Eliot. “Looking nice yourself, El.”

And god damn, Eliot didn’t go into too much trouble for himself, but he still looked fine as hell: she felt kin with the fact the man had on not much more than her below, with his little green shorts made of sheer strips of cloth. It was covered by vines that went part way down his legs and up his arms and crawled up his stomach, which was exposed by the crimson collared top being buttoned only once, at the breast. The carefully applied black eyeliner and the green eyeshadow decorated in green crystals, with a very soft layer of pink on his lips put the whole thing perfectly together.

“Not as magnificent as you,” he replied smilingly.

“Thanks, you slut,” she said cheerfully, kissing Eliot on the cheek and bringing him into a hug. She whispered in his ear, so her boyfriend wouldn’t hear, “James didn’t even try.”

Eliot hadn’t even bothered to notice, but when he quickly flecked his eyes at James and saw his lame ass attempt at the Joker with the usual generic look, he scoffed. "If your boyfriend wasnt so insecure I'd invite you to have sex with us.”

Julia gasped and drew back, laughing her ass off. She slapped Eliot on the shoulder heartily.

Eliot smirked dismissively at James. “Heeey.”

“Nice to see you, Eliot,” James said, half heartedly raising his cup to him, “Made some good shit. Sorry you can’t enjoy it, try to resist if you can.” He indicated Julia, saying disapprovingly, “As you can see, Jules has drank a bit too much.”

Eliot’s jaw went slant, but he only smiled a sardonic smile. “I think I’ll take her off your hands then.” Eliot gently took Julia by the wrist and pulled her into him like they were in ‘Dirty Dancing’, which made them and Quentin howl so powerfully it reverberated through the room. All eyes were on them.

“I can’t drink, honey,” Eliot added, spinning Julia around, “but since you’re our designated drinker, I can liven up this…’party’ James is having and show you how to have a good time, a good time  _ for yourself _ .”

Julia smiled from ear to ear, easily forgetting James standing behind her. “For sure, Dr. Waugh.”

Eliot wanted to jokingly kiss Julia on the mouth, but he wasn’t ready for a fight with some white straight guy who’d want to defend his ‘manly honor’. Funny enough, both Julia and Quentin wanted Eliot to jokingly do so as well.

Julia let Eliot whirl her across the room, picking her up and placing her prettily on the counter. He was intent on making her queen of the party, and she couldn’t feel more touched by it. She desperately enjoyed herself, throwing all in with Eliot’s interesting drinking games that created a scene of…enchantment?

Everyone was enchanted by Eliot.

Eliot mixed drinks the best he could with what was there, he didn’t have to take a sip of James’s conconation to know it was probably vile as fuck. There would be no typical games like beer pong or any of that generic shit.( Except perhaps for one - but Eliot style.)

No, Eliot always got creative.

As everyone crowded round - with Julia as their esteemed queen - Eliot called on the party to play ‘Medusa’: the partygoers put their heads down--when they looked up, and were making eyes at a player looking away from them, they were safe.  _ However _ , if two people found themselves looking at each other, they had to take a drink. And by the end of the whole thing, Eliot noted that Julia and another girl were purposely looking at each other throughout the game.

What first struck Julia about the girl was her costume. Fillorian! And clearly, Jane Chatwin as the Watcherwoman! It was an internet theory Julia and Quentin believed and got into it with other people on Fillory fansites. And here was another one of them! And oh, was she beautiful in her skimpy black leather suit, with a bejeweled hood almost falling over her ethereal brown eyes. A sparkling face paint of the pan pride flag sat below her long eyelashes.

Eliot was good at sleight of hand--perhaps he didn’t need to use magic in this. But he needed to make sure two people, for his final act, they ended up together. When he whispered between games to Quentin his idea (absent the mention of magic, of course), Quentin beamed and surprised Eliot by wanting to partake in it--so long as Eliot played only so they could be paired together. Obviously, it would have to be Quentin on Eliot, since Eliot couldn’t drink.

“Okay, okay, people!” Eliot clapped. “This game will actually be familiar to you guys, and what I’ve been working up to all night.”

He indicated a pair of dice in his hands, and grinned slyly.

_ Body shots. _

It caused quite a buzz in the room, as everyone shouted at each other what body parts and numbers to correspond with them. Somehow it was decided on the classic belly button, the chest, neck, back, inside of the elbow, and inside of the knee. Licking and sucking were chosen and numbered on ways to take the shot. They all wrote their names down, and Eliot held the golden list.

But Julia, as Queen of the Party, was reserved first.

And her partner? A curly haired beauty named Jane in Fillorian clothes - just as Eliot had planned.

“Back, and sucking,” Eliot announced proudly, taking Julia’s hand and gently pulling her off the counter so Jane could lay down on it. The two women locked eyes as Jane walked past Julia, and God, if Julia didn’t have to catch her breath….

With deft fingers, Julia placed a lime in her partner’s mouth, flushing in a way she never had before. She didn’t need instruction from Eliot on how to take a shot, but she hesitated only a little before she sprinkled salt on the open backside of Jane’s beautiful, deep brown skin - and, taking the shot glass out of Eliot’s fingers, plunged into it.

And oh! Sure, the salt was bitter, but the scent of Jane’s body spray somehow overrode it and it burned Julia’s skin as she took her shot and moved over to kiss the lime out of Jane’s mouth. It was sloppy but sweet, and both women giggled through it.

Julia offered Jane her hands and pulled her to her feet. “A Jane named Jane,” Julia teased. “And my favorite fan theory.”

Jane smiled, taking Julia by the arm and leading her out so the next person could go. “Who knew there was another Fillorian in the room, especially one so beautiful.”

Julia laughed openly, and didn’t let go of Jane’s brawny arm as, shocking to her but not, of course, to Eliot, that Quentin was chosen. 

And his sober partner? Eliot himself, obviously. Completed with licking and a shot off the belly button ( _ that _ Eliot didn’t plan.)

Eliot wouldn’t be returning anyone the favor - despite the fact most everyone there wanted to feel Eliot’s kissable lips on their body. And if he did, it would always be Quentin who, when Eliot sprawled out on the counter, touched the sides of Eliot’s hips. He found himself between the warmth of Eliot’s thighs as he rubbed his palms up Eliot’s body, which pulsated with sensuality at Quentin’s touch and big innocent eyes.

Quentin couldn’t resist, when he lowered his head, pressing his lips to Eliot’s exposed hipbone, which was simply  _ begging _ to be kissed. Eliot breathed out sharply, resisting the temptation to thread his fingers in his boyfriend’s hair. He had to will himself not to get hard through his skimpy shorts, fluttering his long lashes as he closed his eyes and enjoyed immensely the feeling of Quentin’s tongue dragging across his stomach.

He was  _ more  _ than ready for those precious lips to kiss away the stinging lime in his mouth, and he sighed underneath Quentin’s tender touch.

Oh yes, Eliot truly had organized everything to perfection.

-

“That was insane,” Jane said to Julia, as they intimately stood in the corner of the room, floating with the sudden couples across the floor. “Your friend Eliot is an interesting dude.”

Julia’s furrowed her brows in thought at that. She hadn’t realized it yet, that she and Eliot….were friends? They had to be. And it touched her. 

Her eyes flecked across the room when she heard James’s obnoxious laugh as he was talking up to several other girls. But strangely, Julia didn’t even feel a jolt of jealousy. She couldn’t in the wake of the gorgeousness that was Jane.

“I think,” Julia began, then shook her head, “I know, I want to see you, like again. You know outside of here.” She’d totally forgotten James was her committed boyfriend of two years.

Jane frowned a little, brushing a loose hair of Julia’s out of her eyes. “Come find me when you’re ready for someone who will worship every part of you.” Her tone was not that of smugness and self importance, but of genuine feeling.

Julia didn’t know what to say, her bottom lip trembled.

“Oh my god!” she heard Quentin cry out behind her. “I love your costume so much,” he called out to Jane excitedly, “Julia and I-I, um are team Watcherwoman Jane. Her killing the original one, becoming the new Watcherwoman.” His eyes were alight in deep regard. “We’ve read the books, like a million times, and--”

“Okay, Q,” Eliot slipped in, taking his boyfriend by the shoulder gently, “I think you need a break.” Quentin had only taken one shot, and he was _ far _ from drunk, but Eliot was returning the favor Julia had done for them. 

He was her Emma Woodhouse now.

Eliot pulled Quentin close into him and kissed him all the way to Quentin’s room. And Julia...Julia watched them with sadness, a heaviness in her heart that was agonizing. She wanted that, she wanted that purity of romance that her best friend had. 

And that was impossible with James.

-

 

“You’re so cute,” Eliot breathed into Quentin’s neck as they stumbled through the glass doors.

Immediately, his curiosity after all this time seized him and he flecked his eyes around. Quentin’s room was exactly what he expected: messy like he said, but a complete fanboy repository. And Eliot loved it: the impressive array of books on fantasy and magic, the colorful decks of cards piled up, the badass memorabilia, and the deep crimson awning above Quentin’s bed, with the design of the front cover of the first Fillory book.

Then his eyes caught sight of his scarf on the side table of Quentin.

Quentin, already stunned into embarrassment, followed his eyes and flushed violently. “I, uh, really had nowhere else to put it….”

But Eliot only smiled brightly. “I’m gonna have to take it back now.”

Quentin shook his head. “Never!” he cried out, catching Eliot’s wrists in his hands as the taller man jokingly reached for his possession. Quentin was smaller but Eliot was always gentle with him.

Eliot escaped Quentin’s soft grip and his fingers near touched the scarf, but Quentin lunged for his hands, trying to maneuvering his own fingers around Eliot’s back, standing on his tiptoes - which only caused them to fall backwards on the bed, laughing wildly as their legs tangled other.

Eliot kissed Quentin on the temple, and sighed happily. He couldn't speak for a moment, so in raptures with the man who he held so dear to his heart. He stroked Quentin’s hair, and they looked deeply into each other’s eyes -- clearly seeing one another's souls through all the pain, loneliness, and brokenness that encapsulated their young lives. Even better than they could see their own.

Eliot felt….he didn’t deserve to be so...fucking happy. Afraid to realize it as if it was something fragile that would break with any touch of recognition. 

“I-um, I--” Eliot couldn’t muster the words for the passion he was feeling at that moment for Quentin, who simply smiled at Eliot with eyes sparkling with the threat of tears.

Quentin lifted his head a little, kissing Eliot tenderly on the mouth. “Take these pigtails out,” he jestingly demanded, “I only trust you to do so, without hurting me.”

Eliot shook his head with a grin. “I’m the one who put them in, silly.”

Eliot gently as possible took out the extensions, Quentin messing with him by making mock pain noises.

“You’re the worst,” Eliot gently chided, kissing Quentin on the nose. He unhooked the pigtails easily out of his boyfriend’s hair, setting them aside on the nightstand - only to notice Quentin’ bottles.

Quentin’s eyes widened in terror.  _ I fucking forgot to hide them. Fucking idiot. _

His chin trembled, but the only thing he saw in Eliot’s eyes were warmth.

“I-um, yeah,” Quentin began shakily.

Eliot caressed his face lovingly. “You don’t gotta tell me, honey.”

“No--no I want to,” Quentin responded. His feelings about his mental illness he kept so close to himself - and he realized how much he wanted to let out his difficulties with it. And Eliot was right for it, above anyone. 

“I was...my mother left me when I was a kid. She was kinda a bitch,” Quentin began, his  eyes flicking away, “anyway, I was always really sad all the same. I was bullied a lot, and um-well.” He took Eliot’s hands in his, and squeezed them. “I tried to kill myself when I was 12. I was hospitalized at um, the hospital I kinda mentioned when we...held hands in the park.” Quentin recalled the extremely painful times he spent in the inpatient services at St. Luke’s, a scared child who didn’t understand his surroundings, and why he was doing what he did. “I’ve been hospitalized most of my lifem, Eliot.” He closed his eyes tight, squeezing the tears out of his eyes. “L-last time,” he choked through his tears, Eliotcomforting him with carrasses and kissing his tears away. “The last time was, um you know, like only a month before school started.”

He let his eyes meet Eliot’s, whose empathy shined so bright it made Quentin feel so undeserving of it.

“You c-can run away now, you know, if you want, because I’m so messed up,” Quentin said quietly. Fuck, he didn’t mean it, the thought of Eliot leaving him... but hell if he didn’t test Eliot like Eliot tested him.

“You’re crazy, but not because of your depression,” Eliot said, between kisses on each of Quentin’s knuckles, “crazy you’d even think, I’d want to leave you.”

Quentin looked up at Eliot with such reverence it made Eliot blush. And only Quentin could do that to him.

Quentin wiped at his own cheeks, the wetness causing the makeup to stream down his face and neck.

“Fuck, sorry,” he sniffled, “I didn’t mean to ruin all your work.” The mask was coming off, and the bright violet covered Quentin’s fingers. Eliot took them between his, holding both Quentin’s hands with pure kindness to his touch.

If Eliot had the words, he would tell his boyfriend all about his own struggles, how oppressive his own depression was, how lost in the world he was. Until they found each other.

So instead, Eliot laid his head on Quentin’s chest and nuzzled his face in the warm, smooth skin of his neck.

“I’m too tired to go back to the party, I think,” he whispered in Quentin’s ear. He took Quentin’s chin between his fingers and tenderly pulled his face to the side, kissing him sleepily.

Something jolted inside Quentin’s head. He thought for the briefest moment Eliot meant they should fuck. But then he just smiled and closed his eyes contentedly,  reaching down and pulling his blanket over both of them. He let his face rest Eliot’s forehead, where he planted a delicate kiss. “Goodnight...my El.”

Eliot pulled Quentin closer, holding him with a burning devotion that made his heart ache. “Goodnight, my Q.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments (which are LIFE) always appreciated! :) <3333


	7. I Got a Spell for That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> “Your image fills my whole soul.”  
> -Prince Albert to Queen Victoria

“Okay, we’re taking a cab home, this is fucking ridiculous,” Eliot spat, hand on Quentin’s hand as they held onto the bars in the _insufferably_ crowded subway train.

Quentin only smirked. “I’m paying for it.”

“Never.” Eliot leaned in to press his lips to his boyfriend’s, though the train jolted and they more smacked each other in the face than kissed.

November had fallen across the city. Darkness swept New York early, since the clocks were turned back a couple weeks prior. The NYC Marathon had been run, and it was only a matter of weeks before the Thanksgiving Day parade promenaded through the streets.

Quentin and Eliot had no interest in either: they’d fill up the cold days of November their _own_ way.

And why not the special exhibit of surviving fashion from medieval Europe at the Met’s Costume Institute?! The clothes looked so Fillorian, Eliot thought when he saw the ad for the event on the bulletin board at school. He was about two thirds through “The World in The Walls”, and while he battled with his concentration issues, he began to see why Quentin loved them so much. They were sweet and innocent and pure, just like his Q.

“It’ll be a lot of fun,” Quentin reassured smilingly, “Anything is fun with you.” He blushed. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

And he was. True, the costumes were Fillorian eye candy for him, but to be with Eliot there, so intimately? Especially now that he was catching on Eliot was reading the Fillory books, it touched Quentin into the very depths of his soul. Eliot was not so mysterious as he fancied himself to be - at least around Quentin.

Quentin dared letting go of the bar and pulled Eliot into a tight hug, using him to maintain his stamina. Eliot buried his face in Quentin’s hair, pressing his chin on his cute little head, holding Quentin protectively as their train pulled into 86th street on the Upper East Side.

Eliot always convinced himself people were looking and judging at him--and as he stepped off the train hand in hand with his boyfriend, he swore he felt a icy stares at his clothes, at being so openly queer, as if people could be reading his working poor backgound.

They walked cozily hand in hand the three blocked to the Met, Quentin’s head comfortably leaning against Eliot’s shoulder as he geeked out about Fillory fashion - which Eliot found absolutely adorable. The trees were just about bare now, but Quentin still had some crunch leaves to stamp on, as the smell of pumpkin spice and cinnamon already swirled in the air.

“You’re gonna make me eat first?” Quentin teased as they took the elevator up to the Met’s fourth floor Dining Room. It was kind of pricey, but this was super extra special and Eliot didn’t care.

“Don’t tell me you’re too excited you can’t eat,” Eliot rebuked jokingly, “I’ll be very sad.”

When they stepped off the elevator, Eliot felt immediately out of place, no matter how much he tried to dress ‘nice.’ There was no official dress code, but it was clearly an unspoken unofficial rule to dress a bit fancy. The decor was so exquisite, with a sort of gold color scheme that even the smooth walls seemed to radiate.

Quentin wrapped his arm in Eliot’s and looked up at him with a kind smile.

Eliot took Quentin up to the seating booth. “Um, yeah, for two,” he said with reddened cheeks to the host.

The host lowered his brows, his eyes bemusedly checking Eliot’s clothes up and down. 

“You need reservations,” he said coldly, but this time with pure lust in his eyes when he settled his gaze on Eliot’s face.

The gaze made Eliot’s eyes grow with anger, even more than the host’s icy words - and it didn’t pass the notice of Quentin.

Eliot’s self realizations had been slow but blooming. He had creepy, predatory, mostly older men like this take such horrible advantage of his youth and clear brokenness. And to do it in front of his boyfriend he adored so much? Fuck that noise.

“Get fucked, you creepy asshole,” Eliot hissed, turning Quentin away and leading him down the emergency stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator.

“New plan,” Eliot snapped, “we leave the Met and totally devote ourselves to destroying this museum.”

Quentin couldn’t help but smile, despite how sad and angry he was at what transpired. “Let’s just go the exhibit and we can fuck off after. Get something to eat somewhere else.”

Eliot squeezed his hand and kissed his temple.

-

But this mess of an evening did not stop there. When they got to the exhibit, the couple were shocked by the fact the exhibit doors were closed.

“Um, so hey, yeah, exuse me,” Eliot asked to a worker, with obvious annoyance to his voice, “why the fuck is the exhibit closed?”

The worked wrinkled his nose. “There was flooding in the exhibit from a broken pipe or whatever.” 

Eliot was seeing red now, his lip trembling violently. He almost laughed at how fucking rediculous this was. “Thanks for fucking nothing,” he spit, far too embarrased to make eye contact with Quentin.

“Hey,” Quentin said tenderly, caressing Eliot’s cheek, “the other fashion exhibits are open. Let’s go look.”

Eliot still couldn’t meet Quentin’s eye, but he mustered a sad smile. “Yeah.”

They _did_ manage to have some fun perusing the 70s exhibit, a skip to Quentin’s step that warmed Eliot and made him calm a little. Quentin pointed out clothes he could see Eliot wear.

“You’d totally wear that and it would turn me on,” Quentin said without thought, and blushed fervently.

Eliot grinned. “Then it is truly a wonder.” And Quentin was right. Eliot wouldn’t only wear it in the 70s, he’d likely wear for a night out with his boyfriend. It was a metallic gold threaded button down shirt with a silk with vest over it, with sparkling, tight white bell bottom pants.

They finished the exhibit and walked out with genuine smiles on their faces. There was a generic coffee cart just outside it, and Eliot nodded his head.

“Sadly, won’t be able to get you the pretty late you deserve,” Eliot said, “but I’m still buying you something.”

Quentin opened his mouth, but Eliot cut him off with a laugh, “and you absolutely are not paying!”

Quentin shook his head and kissed Eliot’s hand. “So mean.”

Eliot winced at the basic ass-ness of the coffee menu and put down a couple bucks on the cart. “Two coffees.”

The grumpy barista didn’t say anything, only grimaced at the cash and lazily poured two cups of coffee. He pushed it briskly to Eliot as if Eliot was stricken with the Black Death.

So briskly, in fact, that one cup tipped off the edge and splashed all over Quentin.

“Quentin, fuck!” Eliot cried out, quickly rubbing his hand over his boyfriend’s soiled shirt.

“Got no fucking napkins?” Eliot snapped at the barista.

The barista looked disapprovingly at Eliot’s hand still between Quentin’s fingers. “We’re all out.”

Eliot knew that look like the back of his fucking hand. It was something he felt so used to, but was no less painful to be judged for being gay.

He shook his head and said nothing further to the barista. “Let’s just go, Q.”

“You’re an absolute fucking dick!” Quentin snapped violently, which made Eliot jolt in surprise. Quentin kicked the cart with force and swiped his hand over the counter, knocking everything he could to the floor.

It stunned the barista into terrified silence, so much so he took a step back.

Quentin ripped Eliot’s money away and spat on the counter. 

Quentin isn't a spitter because he's not a quitter, but not in this case. 

“I should fucking report you for your bullshit discrimination, which would get you in trouble,” he growled, “but I just wanna get the fuck out of here.”

Quentin took Eliot’s hand and pulled him away, walking angrily out the side exit door. His sexual orientation was the one thing he was never unsure or shy or insecure about. He was completely at home in his bisexuality.

But Eliot smiled proudly. He couldn’t speak with words what he was feeling, but God, it overwhelmed him and made him breathless.

“Let me grab a cab,” Eliot said quietly, turning Quentin around. “You okay?”

Quentin nodded a little. “Only with you.”

Eliot leaned down and kissed Quentin fully on the lips. “Stand right here, I’ll get us outta here.”

But as Eliot stepped to the curb, his nose was filled with the scent of water on cement. He hadn’t even noticed it was raining, and now it began to pour in earnest.

He quickly stepped over back to Quentin and took his coat off. “Here,” he said, placing it over Quentin’s hair, “I don’t want you to get sick.”

Quentin would protest, but he saw how upset Eliot was already getting. “Okay,” he said smilingly. “Thank you, El.”

Eliot nodded with a ghost of a smile, and bounced back to the curb - with no hope of catching a cab.

His hair and clothes were now absolutely soaked, and not one cab pulled up.

“It’s okay, Eliot,” Quentin called out through the thunder roaring above, “we can just take the subway back. It’s Friday night, it’s impossible to get a cab.”

He waited for Eliot to answer, but his boyfriend simply stood still with parted lips and his gaze lowered to the ground. 

“Eliot?” Quentin worried.

Eliot looked away as Quentin approach him and took Eliot’s fingers between his. He tried so desperately to will himself not to cry, but Quentin touching his cheek so sweetly, so tender, with such loving kindness, was enough for the dam to break.

“Fuck,” Eliot cried out hotly, angry tears flowing freely as his body was racked with sobs.

“El, come here,” Quentin said softly, pulling Eliot into a comforting embrace.

“I’m s-s-so sorry, Q,” Eliot cried into his boyfriend’s hair, “I’m such a failure, I’m good at nothing, not good enough for you.”

Quentin shook his head into the crane of Eliot’s neck. “That’s not true, it’s never been true, ever.”

Eliot choked a terrible sob. “I hurt so fucking much, Q. I don’t know what to do, I’m so broken.” He then felt Quentin pull back slightly, and he was terrified that his Q was going to run away. But instead, Quentin took Eliot’s face in his hands with pure understanding reflecting in his eyes.

Quentin smiled. “I think I got a spell to fix that.” He lifted his heels off the ground and tenderly took Eliot’s mouth to his, kissing deeply. Eliot’s lips naturally parted, and he let Quentin in with ease.

He purred low as he felt his boyfriend’s tongue inside his mouth - and fuck, it was so soothing to Eliot, for him to be able to suck on Quentin’s tongue with its assauging motions. 

Quentin was sloppy and inexact and naive with his kisses. It wasn’t anything Eliot had had before, with all those other guys, the ones in New York, even the closed jocks back in Indiana who used Eliot for sex were more precise.

And Eliot ate up every second of it. That profoundly human, astonishingly affectionate touch that only Quentin could ever give him.

Eliot wrapped his arms around Quentin and softly pulled out of the kiss with a smack of the lips. Somehow, the smile that curled his lips reached his eyes, red and puffy as they were. He looked deeply into Quentin’s hues.

His glowing brown eyes were _heartstopping._

Quentin kissed Eliot on the side of the mouth. “L-Let’s catch the next train and get away from this. Get you dry, you know?”

Eliot pressed his forehead to Quentin’s, kissing his temple lovingly, and just nodded in his hair with a sniffle.

Perhaps the whole night wasn’t such a disaster, if it meant having such a blessing as Quentin in his arms.

-

Quentin and Eliot passed quietly through the door of Eliot’s dorm. Eliot’s arm had been over Quentin to protect him from the rain, but even in the hallway his protective grip stayed.

The moment they were in the common room, so soaked that a small puddle was already forming around their feet, Eliot pulled Quentin into an amorous embrace, tipping his chin up and pressing his lips to the shorter man’s.

It was impossible to say who broke from the embrace, to take the other’s hands and lead them to Eliot’s room. It seemed such a harmonious act, as they kissed each other all the way to the bedroom.

They closed the door not too quietly behind them. Hands scrambling for purchase to hold one another even closer than possible, Eliot kissing passionately every part of Quentin he could get to: first his mouth, then cheeks, the neck, then back to those pretty lips he couldn’t resist.

“Oh, Q,” Eliot whispered in Quentin’s mouth, running his hand lightly up Quentin’s back.

Eliot had so many burning questions he wanted to ask Quentin right then: why does this hurt so fucking much when it feels so incredible? Why do my broken pieces feel put back together in your arms? Why don’t I ever want to part from them from this day forth?

But the most terrifying: do you feel the same, Q, dear heart?

Eliot felt his hand being pulled down from around Quentin’s back, with an utterly wanting Quentin shyly bringing Eliot’s elegant fingers between their bodies, making them part when so pressed up against each other. Quentin guided his hand lower and lower and...

And, oh.

“God,” Quentin whined, rubbing his face in Eliot’s neck as his boyfriend’s fingers touched him where he had wanted for so long.

The wave of emotions that passed through Quentin were indescribable - he couldn’t name it. But after this day - if he didn’t see how much Eliot cared about him before, he was thoroughly convinced of it now. How for someone such as Eliot to hold him so dear and make him feel so adored was a heavenly bliss he still felt he had no right too, and was terrified to lose, but in Eliot’s arms, everything made sense. It hurt so much but not in a bad way, and he felt those shattered parts of himself--splintered like Eliot’s mirror--coming together with caring hands. And he wished dearly for no separation from Eliot from this very moment.

He felt Eliot’s mouth open on his forehead, and he swore he heard Eliot groan.

He looked back and searched in Eliot’s eyes.

Eliot only leaned in and kissed him, but he didn’t move his hand from Quentin’s hardening dick. He pressed his wet lips to Quentin’s ear, and whispered shakily, “Q, are you sure you want this? From me? I’m such a terrible person, I’ve done so  many bad things...”

Quentin silenced Eliot by touching his lips tenderly to Eliot’s, who drank in the kiss.

He felt Eliot’s fingers run down his side and tug lightly at the waistband of his tight black jeans, Eliot’s ceaseless lips kissing and lightly biting at the soft skin of Quentin’s neck.

But before he pulled Quentin’s bottoms down, he made sure to ask Quentin with kind eyes, “What do you want?”

Quentin flushed the deepest crimson. Eliot never had the pleasure of those losers he fucked around with asking what he wanted, but he sure as fuck would ask his adored boyfriend.

“I-I-” Quentin stuttered, tempted to lower his eyes out of sudden and strange shame. He hadn’t thought farther than moving Eliot’s fingers to his place of pleasure--what they would actually do, his on the spot ‘plans’ hadn’t come up with yet.

But he realized without a beat _exactly_ what he desired. He fully met Eliot’s gaze, gracing his fingers over Eliot’s bottom lip.

And Eliot, smilingly, understood.

Kissing Quentin’s fingers, he began to pull down Quentin’s pants--which stuck to his skin because of how wet they were, but Eliot managed as he slowly lowered himself to the floor to get them off. 

He looked up at Quentin, who was watching him. When he stood up, he took Quentin into a passionate kiss, a reassuring one--a promise. A promise he’d be good and gentle and kind to him through this.

He lifted Quentin by the waist and carefully guided him to the bed in the corner of the bedroom, kissing him the whole way.

A beat of blood collected in Quentin’s stomach as Eliot laid him down gently. Eliot looked at Quentin with absolute adoration in his eyes, which reflected in Quentin’s eyes as Eliot settled himself on top of Quentin and pressed kisses to his jaw.

Quentin startled a little when he felt Eliot pull up his shirt, cold rings against his sensitive skin.

When Eliot lowered himself to kiss up the side of Quentin’s ribcage as his soaked shirt came over his head, it made Quentin begin to pant not so quietly - Eliot feeling the quick rising and falling of Quentin’s belly beneath him. 

“It’s okay,” Eliot promised. “...You’re okay?”

Quentin nodded his head with a smirk, touching Eliot’s face and bringing him in for a tender kiss. 

Eliot smiled through the kiss, mouthing, “Okay.”

That mouth moved its lips from Quentin’s puckered lips, to kiss at his boyfriend’s jaw, his trail of kisses softly smooching down Quentin’s neck, to the vee of his neck, and finally new terrority: just above Quentin’s hardening nipples, Eliot had wanted to see so bad.

Eliot had a look of admiration of them, allowing a finger to trace around one, making slow circles on its tip. Quentin breathed in sharply as Eliot leaned down and took his perked nipple between his lips reverently. 

“Oh, Q…” Eliot breathed almost silently, as he began to suck on it as tenderly as possible, which went straight to Quentin’s dick.

He dragged his lips across the short expanse between Quentin’s tits, and took in his mouth the other one hotly, savoring its taste between his puffy lips.

Quentin managed to lift his head to kiss Eliot on thee top of his head, only for it to fall backwards in a moan when Eliot began sucking at his skin as his lips trailed sensually down his chest. Eliot made sure to stick his tongue lightly in Quentin’s belly button as he went lower and lower, which drew a sharp take a breath from his lover.

 _Lover_ , Eliot thought. _My lover._

He ghosted a kiss to Quentin’s hip bone and slightly began to pull down his boxers. “Fuck,” he said heatedly, pulling back a bit to kick off his own pants. It was quite on unfair, he thought, to be fully clothed while he was about to strip Quentin completely bare.

But he didn’t get to his own underwear, he simply couldn’t resist--instead of stripping himself--grabbing at Quentin’s slim hips and almost touching his mouth to his boyfriend’s hard on, hot breath exhaling on it that made Quentin near beg for Eliot to kiss it.

Eliot crawled back up Quentin’s body, their erections just touching. Quentin pulled in Eliot for a filthy kiss, his tongue in Eliot’s mouth more aggressive than it had ever been.

“I-I, uh, want you so so bad,” Quentin whispered shyly when he regrettably pulled out of the kiss.

Eliot looked at Quentin fondly. “I want you. So bad too.” He kissed down Quentin’s body has he had before, but with more urgency. This time, when he got down to Quentin’s hips, he began to pull down Quentin’s boxers, his eyes ever on his boyfriend’s face to make sure he was okay with it.

Oh, Quentin was. He bit his lip and nodded slightly. When he felt his boxers come down to his knees and pulled over his feet, he immediately felt the coldness in the room on his skin and felt exposed, sucking in his breath.

“Are you okay?” Eliot asked quietly, hands on Quentin’s bare knees.

Quentin’s answer, while quiet, was resolute. “Oh, yes.” His bottom lip trembled. “Please don’t stop, El.”

Eliot smirked, and leaned in to kiss at Quentin’s knees, as he began to gently work open his lover’s legs.

Quentin opened up like a flower.

Eliot marveled at Quentin’s dick, licking his lips as he admired it and wanted desperately to put his mouth on it. But that could wait for a little. He wanted to get Quentin worked up.

He pressed his lips to Quentin’s stomach open mouthed, and dragged his tongue to his groin, sucking passionately at the skin just above Quentin’s cock.

Quentin spread open his legs wider to give Eliot more room as his lover kissed his knee and mouthing his way down to Quentin’s dick.

When Quentin felt Eliot’s chin brush his erection, he groaned. His body gave away his feelings, and his whole body was blotted in red as Eliot kissed at the skin around his base. And it didn’t pass unnoticed by Eliot, who looked up understandingly.

Quentin pursed his lips. “I-I’ve never done anything like th-this before Eliot.” He looked at his hands. “I don’t know...what to do with them.”

“You can put your fingers in my hair if you like,” Eliot said gently. He took one of Quentin’s hands between his, but he needed his other one to blow Quentin properly.

Quentin simply nodded quietly, and when Eliot smiled and lowered himself back down again to nip at his base, Quentin slowly let his hand extend out and thread them in Eliot’s mess of curls. Quentin didn’t understand why Eliot hated them so much; he found them absolutely beautiful.

God, when Eliot’s hand took him by his base, only to kiss the tip of his head, Quentin’s head fell back completely, eyes closed as he moaned loudly.  His legs shook around Eliot’s head as his boyfriend kissed down his cock, and then back up his shaft, wiggling his tongue in Quentin’s slit when he got back to the top.

“Fuck, El,” Quentin groaned, his fingers tightening their grip in Eliot’s hair.

Quentin was terrified he was going to come early, but Eliot enjoyed the taste of Quentin’s precum on his lips as he took his lover’s head fully into his mouth.

And if that didn’t make Quentin break into a sweat, nothing would.

Eliot stroked Quentin’s throbbing dick as he tongued the head with a sort of veneration. He couldn’t believe he was _tasting_ Quentin, and it was even more wonderful than he had imagined.

With a slow, tender rhythm, Eliot took Quentin’s cock in his mouth down to the root. 

“Oh-oh,” Quentin choked, that feeling of the warm, wet expanse of Eliot’s mouth around his cock causing Quentin to sigh with immeasurable need.

And when Eliot hollowed his cheeks, while massaging Quentin’s balls? Quentin fell completely on the edge of letting go as he panted wildly.

When he peeked up and saw Eliot bobbing his head, Quentin felt his body moving with Eliot’s rhythm, his hips bucking upwards as Eliot’s expert tongue swirled around his dick. His fingers pulled Eliot’s curls in earnest, as if almost guiding Eliot’s mouth. And perhaps he was.

And Eliot liked it. But he could also feel Quentin holding back--and he understood, the embarrassment of perhaps coming ‘too fast’, but he wanted his boyfriend to enjoy this first time.

When he licked and sucked back up Quentin’s dick, he looked Quentin in his big eyes--which were watching Eliot nervously but with such a splash of intense pleasure.

“You can let go, Q,” Eliot promised, “I want you--you to enjoy this.”

Quentin blushed deeper and looked away briefly, but he met Eliot’s eyes which reflected back deep appreciation. Quentin relented, letting his body untense. He squeezed Eliot’s fingers to let him know he was ready to be swallowed whole.

Now, when Eliot took Quentin completely in his mouth, his lover let out a long drawn out moan that he could swear shook the room. Quentin thrust into Eliot’s mouth with a vigor he didn’t know he had him, and Eliot simply let his lover guide how he wanted his mouth to be used.

Quentin’s hips twitched as he felt his climax coming, his moaning making him more determined to make Quentin feel the best he ever has.

And fuck, if he didn’t. Quentin panted “oh” so quietly, over and over and over again, as his moans increased in such speed it sounded like gasping. Eliot, thought, no one could moan more prettily than Quentin.

Quentin felt hypnotized as he watched in amazement the desperate hunger with which Eliot was pleasuring him. And it whetted Quentin’s appetite.

It was one long, tender, loving suck around his cock, as Eliot pushed a single finger between Quentin’s balls, that pushed Quentin over the edge, his hips buckling beneath Eliot’s touch as he sobbed openly with his unearthly pleasure that completely shook his world. If his pleasure hadn’t been so intense that his vision completely whited out, perhaps Quentin would have noticed he had pulled out some Eliot’s hair between his fingers. 

Not that Eliot minded as he worked Quentin through his orgasm, smiling around Quentin’s cock as he gratefully swallowed Quentin’s release as he felt its warmth going down his throat.

Eliot looked up and gave a panting Quentin a few more strokes, smiling as he kissed Quentin’s tip one last time.

The final kiss to the tip near killed Quentin.  He would have wanted Eliot to stay there if he didn’t want to kiss his lips so much.

Eliot gently crawled up across Quentin and laid to his side, running his hand up Quentin’s chest and taking his lover’s lips between his. Quentin fell into the kiss, long and deep and passionate. Tasting himself on Eliot’s lips was strangely exhilarating.

Quentin’s chest felt so heavy with the emotion he thought he might explode. Kissing Eliot for a bit as his body began to relax, Quentin whispered, “T-thank you so much, El.” He chastised himself for the tears threatening to fall. “I needed...this..with y-you, for, just...so long. To feel you, you know...”

Eliot silenced Quentin with a smooch. “I have wanted to make you feel good for so long too. I hope...I hope I did.”

Perhaps it was a dumb statement considering the obvious results, but Eliot’s uncertainty never failed to pop up. 

“Oh, Jesus, yes,” Quentin cried out, pulling Eliot back in for another kiss.

What happened next Eliot didn’t expect. At all.

The feeling of Quentin’s hand running down his chest and fingers at his waistband startled him.

Eliot pulled back, and Quentin frowned. “I’m sorry,” Quentin said.

“No,” Eliot reassured, smiling, “don’t apologize. You don’t have to, please don’t feel you have to.”

Quentin did feel he wasn’t perhaps ready to try going down on Eliot - as much as he fantasized about - but he wanted to give Eliot as much pleasure as he could.

“I’ll just you, k-know.” Quentin’s cheeks burned. “Take you between my fingers. I-if you don’t mind, you know.”

Eliot felt bad; he truly didn’t want Quentin to think he had to. “Q, of course I’d...like it, but you don’t have to.”

Quentin grinned and leaned in to kiss Eliot dirtily. “But I want to.”

Eliot thought for a moment, and Quentin felt his boyfriend nod against his forehead. His hand ran down Eliot’s chest and undid his waistband, exposing his already engorged cock which was -- of such impressive size that made Quentin’s eyes widened.

When Quentin took him in his hand, Eliot moaned. “Oh, God, Q,” he whispered, going to kiss Quentin on the mouth but missing just barely.

Eliot was already close as fuck - the way Quentin’s body opened up to him, and how beautiful his orgasm was - made him harder than hell.

Quentin’s fingers are gentle but quite ceaseless as he stroked Eliot, who took Quentin’s face between his hands and kissed him desperately.

“Oh, my Q,” Eliot sighed.

And God, did he almost completely collapse against his boyfriend as he thrust between his fingers, his orgasm taking him over completely.

Eliot almost felt...embarrassed? Is that what he would call it? It was a strange feeling. He tongued Quentin as he rode through his orgasm. And Quentin? Feeling Eliot’s warmth between his fingers would have made him hard again had he not been so spent by Eliot’s glorious dick sucking skills.

Eliot pulled his lips away a little. “I--never.” That feeling came rushing in. Had he been to loud? Too urgent? But neither was what he was thinking, when he realized what it was. And a teardrop swam down his cheek as he stroked Quentin’s jaw.

“Every---” he began, but stopped, not sure how to word it. “You’re the first and only who...ever...cared.” _Cared for my own pleasure._

Every ghoul he had sex with prior only cared for their own pleasure, Eliot was only their animated sex toy to them. But Quentin treated Eliot with such humanity it made him feel so undeserved but also genuinely appreciated. 

It was _devastating._

“Anyway, thank you,” he said, brushing Quentin’s hair out of eyes and kissing his nose. “God, thank you so much.”

Quentin smiled, all dimples - just what made Eliot swoon. “Always, my El.”

They both laid back and just looked and smiled and touched each other. They needn’t say anything - their eyes and lips did all the talking, as they tangled together and kissed sleepily. They eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Sleeping peacefully for, perhaps, the first time in both of their lives.

“Eliot,” Quentin said as sleepiness had taken over.

“Yeah?”

“My foot hurts.”

And they both laughed into their dreams.


	8. All of My Regrets Are Nothing New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All we need is a little opportunity, and someone who believes in us.”  
> ― Mark Millar, Kingsman: The Secret Service

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I added attempted sexual assault to the tags: this is a particularly heavy angst chapter and without giving away WHY this is here, I will let you know what section it is in by bolding the beginning and the end if you wish to skip it. <3
> 
> ~I am quoting the song that inspires this fic a lot of this - and it will be a particular theme in the fic too. :3

“That feels good, yeah, baby?” Eliot breathed, biting Quentin’s slim shoulder in thanks for doing as he had gently asked.

“Your fingers….,” Quentin whined, poking his tongue as he fluttered his lids closed. “They tasted so g-good.”

“You’re so pretty when you make that face for me,” Eliot praised, kissing Quentin fully on the lips as he stroked his irresistible boyfriend with merciless fingers. Those same elegant fingers which Eliot had asked Quentin to lick after he himself had come in Quentin’s hand. It was stunning how beautiful Quentin was when lapped gratefully at Eliot’s slick fingers, before he hurriedly pressed Eliot’s hand down to his already leaking cock.

Oh, how desperate Quentin’s thrusts into Eliot’s hands he was! He tried to take steady breaths but he was too far gone now, his mouth opening in an inarticulate cry as he spilled over between his grinning boyfriend’s fingers.

Eliot gave his Q a sort of congratulatory kiss that was absolute _obscene_ , as Quentin slumped in his arms with a contented sigh. He was always so soft and cute and a little sleepy after Eliot ripped an orgasm out of him.

“You’re too nice to me,” Quentin said smilingly, pressing his head into Eliot’s neck.

Eliot brushed Quentin’s hair - he wasn’t _exactly_  intending to get Quentin’s own cum in his hair, but it was kinda hot.

“I’m gonna miss this,” he continued, kissing Eliot behind the ear.

“Yeah,” Eliot replied quietly, holding Quentin close. “Let me get us cleaned up, we can be cute and cuddly without being dirty.” He winked with a chaste kiss to Quentin’s forehead.

He felt the sting of sadness as he walked to grab the tissues. Quentin going home, far off in Jersey (seemingly far, anyway, to him.) for Thanksgiving weekend hurt his heart. They’d seen each other almost every day for months now, it was unbearable to think of not seeing Quentin for an extended weekend.

Eliot jumped on top of Quentin with a hearty laugh once the couple were cleansed and dressed in their pajamas: Quentin in a cute but stained blue top with loose light grey sweats, while Eliot donned a ridiculously extra faux-silk red robe with nothing underneath.

Eliot took in Quentin for the tenderest of kisses, furrowing his brows at how good it felt to be in Quentin’s comforting embrace. They had spent the last two weeks almost every night (and a few times during the day…) learning each other’s bodies. They didn’t go beyond giving each other handjobs and Eliot going down on Quentin, but fuck it was insanely amazing and intimate and romantic. They couldn’t ever keep their clothes on anymore around each other.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” he said sadly, pressing his forehead to Quentin while caressing his cheek affectionately.

Quentin sat up a little. A crazy idea sprang into his head. Eliot jolted back wondering what was wrong. Quentin seized Eliot’s fingers between his. “How about you come with me?”

The expression Eliot’s face went from sorrowful to dark and confused.

That made Quentin jerk back, and Eliot immediately felt bad. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Quentin’s cheek. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow, yeah? We still got shit school tomorrow and all I want is for you to sleep in my arms.”

Quentin suddenly felt the tiredness that was behind his eyes, and happily let Eliot gently flip him over and put him on top. Eliot wrapped his arms snuggly and protectively around Quentin.

“I’ve got you, you know?” Eliot whispered as he kissed Quentin lovingly goodnight. “I’ll keep you safe and warm and all that.”

Even in the dark Eliot could see Quentin’s vibrant blush. “I know.” Quentin rested his head under Eliot’s chin. “I’ll keep you safe, always.”

-

Julia slumped against the couch tapping her foot against the glass coffee table, hugging the throw pillow tightly to her chest as if she’d never let it go. She looked up through long eyelashes as she caught sight of James moving for the door.

“Not gonna say goodbye?” she snapped, furrowing her brows. “We had plans tonight to watch a movie with Q and El.”

“ _You_ have plans with them,” James remarked coolly, admiring himself in the mirror, “Eliot clearly fucking hates me anyway.”

That made Julia’s eyes flash with anger, and it didn’t pass unnoticed by James in the reflection of the mirror.

“Jules, he is poisoning you against me, you’ve been a bitch to me ever since that Halloween party and you know it.” He finished adjusting his tie, and turned around with a shit eating grin. “I don’t want you to embarass me like that again.”  
“Like what, you ass?” she cried, “talking to another girl like you were?”

James made for the door. “I don’t have time for your self-pitying shit, Julia. Go work on your useless project.”

He felt the force of something smacking him in the back. He looked down and saw the throw pillow.

“Eliot would never do this shit to Q, you’re a miserable bastard, James.” Her face was now red with fierce anger. “Nor the girl at the party I met.” Her gaze was challenging, but unwavering.

“Good,” he snapped, kicking the pillow in her direction, “You work on your project and I’ll work on mine.”

He put his hand on the doorknob, only to feel it click beneath his fingers.

“The fuck James?” Quentin said, pushing the door against him. “Let us in.”

Eliot came in behind Quentin, and frowned when he saw how upset Julia was.

“Perhaps you should, like, leave now?” Eliot suggested, moving over to Julia and sitting next to her.

James eyed Quentin. “It’s my fucking apartment.”

Quentin shrinked a little. He was prone to being scared of other people, especially aggressive ones like James. He hadn’t realized has found James scary until now. “I-it looks like you were leaving anyway,” he said quietly, “so just go.”

James gave Julia one more wince before he pushed Quentin out of the way and left angrily.

Quentin went to sit by Julia on the other side of her, taking her graceful fingers between his. Her pretty head was resting on Eliot’s shoulder. He felt like such a coward for not telling James off, he squeezed her hand to let her know he was so sorry.

Julia had attempted to will herself not to cry, but now angry tears streamed down the smooth skin of her cheeks. “I hate him!” she snapped, as Eliot wrapped his arm around the waist, massaging her side to comfort her, and let her know she wasn’t alone.

Because fuck, if he didn’t know this feeling. 

_His father…_

But he shook himself out of it. “So do I.”

Julia couldn’t help but grin the fainted grin at that. “Don’t make me laugh, I’m sad.”

Quentin almost added, “I hate him, too.” But that was an old thought of his that came from his creepy crush on Julia. He had considered James a close friend at the surface, but beneath that--he was jealous as fuck of him. He had taken the girl he had always wanted! How could he not be so resentful?

But Quentin realized in this moment, looking at how kind and comforting Eliot was, what a selfish and shitty person he was to even think like that, ever.

“We need to find a way to get rid of him,” Eliot thought out aloud.

“Are we planning an assassination?” Quentin asked almost giddily.

Now Julia’s smile reached her eyes. “You’re both terrible and I love you both.”

That stirred something in Eliot’s heart. It was so touching to hear her say that about him. He didn’t have a real friend since Taylor...and that ended so terribly he couldn’t bear to even think of it.

And now he had Julia. He promised to himself then, in that moment, to never hurt her like he had to Taylor, something he regretted bitterly.

Eliot wiped the hair out of Julia’s eyes., “Yeah, but we’re yours.”

Julia chuckled lightly. She looked adoringly at Eliot, then Quentin. “Let’s just...forget about him and watch the movie.”

“I have a lesbian agenda planned,” Eliot admitted coyly. “Ever seen ‘But I’m a Cheerleader?”

Julia grinned. “I haven’t seen it, you weirdo.”

Eliot smirked back. “I see a lot of Megan in you. It will convert you to our team.”

Julia kissed Eliot on the cheek. “I accept your challenge.”

-

“Gonna miss both of you,” Eliot said as he crawled into bed with Quentin, absolutely exhausted from the day, but still gleaming from his movie watch with Julia. 

Hump day was always a mess, but curling up in a warm bed with Quentin made his aches and pains wash away.

“Not as much as we’ll miss you,” Quentin said quietly, taking Eliot in his arms. “I don’t think we’ve slept apart for quite a bit now….”

Eliot rested his head on Quentin’s chest, flicking his eyes up at that face he found so irresistibly beautiful. “Yeah…” He couldn’t say much more without his voice breaking, so he simply sat up a little and pressed his mouth tenderly to Quentin’s.

Quentin hummed through this kiss - every little touch make the soreness in his body and the agony in his mind more and more alleviated each time.

But, alas, he had almost forgotten!

He sat up quickly and took Eliot’s hands. “Come with me.”

Eliot’s chin trembled. “Not this again, Quentin….” He turned away, attempting to hide the candour his face easily betrayed. Because fuck, he couldn’t handle it… being around somebody else’s father. Or some sorta semblance of a happy relationship between dad and son like Quentin and is dad seemed to have. It was unbearable. “No, I can’t. Sorry.”

Quentin didn’t quite understand the gravity of what was passing inside Eliot, as his boyfriend had never said anything about his family before, positive or negative. Quentin sat up too and kissed the back of Eliot’s neck, running his hand up his back gently.

“But we could have so much fun!” Quentin cried out happily, “Me, you, Julia. There’s so much to do. And my dad would love to have you. We have this tradition… and you’d feel right at h--”

“I said fucking _NO,_ Quentin!” Eliot snapped with a ferociousness that made Quentin jump back in terror.

Eliot had never, ever spoken to him like that in the slightest.

“Sorry…” Quentin whispered with a morose quietness. The wave of sorrow that spilled over him was unlike anything he had ever felt before. There were feelings of betrayal, suffering, confusion, panic, and anger, but it was so much more than that.

Eliot quickly checked himself and turned around frantically, seizing Quentin’s fingers, which were dull between his grip. “Q, I’m so sorry…”

“I think you should go home,” Quentin said dejectedly, removing his hands from Eliot’s. His eyes remained firmly glued to the bed, unable to even make the slightest piece of eye contact with his boyfriend. “I wanna be alone tonight.”

Eliot’s eyes grew wide. The deep anguish in Quentin’s voice was palpable, and Eliot had caused it.

Eliot opened his mouth, trying to form some sort of apology that fizzled before he could even think of what he wanted to say.

Quentin crawled out of bed and was tempted to swat Eliot’s hand away as it reached out for him. Never had such fingers as Eliot’s feel so unwelcome, even if they were the ones extending.

“Just go…” Quentin said almost silently, opening the door of the bathroom and locking himself inside. He slid his back down the door and plopped on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest.

He didn’t understand. He had never been so confused, so wounded in his life, he was betrayed. It seemed to take an extraordinarily long time for Eliot to leave. But when he finally heard his boyfriend’s steps across the floor and leave through the door, Quentin completely sank to the floor, sobbing like never before.

It was a heartbreaking cry that shook the Earth, and perhaps, if it existed, was heard as far away as Fillory.

-

“Why didn’t we ever learn to drive?” Julia asked Quentin, slipping her arm under his and pulling him in close.

They didn’t go to New York City a lot growing up, but Julia was familiar with this particular route of the NJ Transit bus system. The handful of times she went to visit Quentin in the hospital when he had tried to kill himself. And there was nothing more painful for Julia in her life than the person she loved above all in so much hurt, to the point that he’d try to leave the world.

There was a time when they were fourteen and Julia had found the suicide note Quentin left for her: she had come back to Quentin’s house, she had forgot something. It was the most terrifying moment in her life to see him near death.

And when he was released?

Quentin, her, and Ted rode this same bus, on the same, now familiar route home.

“Quentin?” she prompted, when he didn’t answer.

Her best friend had his head turned away from her, forehead pressed against the glass of the bus window with his sorrowful eyes screwed shut.

She reached her hand over and touched his gaunt cheek gently, only to feel the racks of him sobbing beneath her fingers.

He was already quiet and dejected when she met up with him at the apartment. James wasn’t there, thank God, but shockingly Eliot wasn’t. She meant to ask where he was, but Quentin’s eyes were so heavy she didn’t want to know.

She opened her mouth to say something, but she knew that she’d choke on the tears that were now falling. Quentin had been so happy, so genuinely joyous it made her heart soar.

And this was a sadness unlike anything she’d ever seen. And terror seized her heart that she would again find him near death on the floor of his bathroom. The flashes of his blood on her fingers went through her mind violently, and it made her shudder.

Julia gently laid her head on Quentin’s shoulder and snuggled him, taking Quentin’s hand in hers and caressing it with careful tenderness.

She wanted to tell him, that she saw, through him and Eliot together, how beautiful life was: that even if we barely made it, we could survive--and be genuinely happy.

But she couldn’t, not just yet. She wasn’t sure if she yet fully believed it - but deep in her heart, she knew it was true.

-

Eliot’s dorm room was deserted. His roommates had families to go home to. He thought about what it would be like, for them. Perhaps, they weren’t celebrating thanksgiving, but their parents and siblings were all happy to have them.

Elito couldn't recall a happy Thanksgiving with his family. It was always work with them, true, but it was so much more than that in the desperate misery he grew up in. The youngest and (believe it or not) the smallest of three brothers, the older two who quite took part in bullying their youngest brother with their father. Thanksgiving was just football nonsense and forcing their mother to slave over in the kitchen for them to just treat her like crap anyways.

His hands were clasped in his lap and he stared absently at them, eyes sunken in from no night’s rest after leaving Quentin’s apartment.

Everything was too quiet. And this time everyday his ear would usually be filled with Quentin’s infectious laughter spilling over as Eliot said something or other that was funny to his Q.

He worried about the days leading up to this weekend about not hearing his voice for two full days. Now…

_Fuck!_

Eliot covered his ears as his own self hatred began to spiral out of control inside himself--so much that the glass mirror not only once again shattered, but the pieces were violently thrown everywhere as the piercing sound of anger rang in his ears.

“God damnit,” he cried underneath his breath, looking down at his hands when he lowered them--he noticed they were bleeding. A wayward piece of glass had cut him on the outside of his fingers.

He whipped out his phone and looked to see if Quentin had texted him. Of course, he hadn’t. And Eliot, he knew he had no right to either text or call him. All he could do now was wait for Sunday night when Quentin would come back.

If Quentin even wanted to see him again.

Eliot’s fingers levied nervously over the keypad of his phone. He still had one of his main dealer’s numbers memorized...he had blocked every single one of them, and any of his paramours. But when ever he needed anything, Eros was there to jump in, get Eliot whatever he wanted when he wanted it.

For the price of Eliot’s soul.

His legs shook, sucking in his breath as he typed up the words, “Can u make is snow for me?” And with an urgency he had not felt for a while now, hit send.

-

Ted Coldwater was at the train station to pick up his son and Julia. He always wished he could call Julia his daughter.

He smiled deeply, all teeth when he saw both of them step off the bus, and opened his arms to bring them into a hug.

But when he saw the cast of fear across Julia’s face, and then his son--so desolate, so dejected, tearstained, he walked up to them and took both their hands gently. He kissed each on the head.

“I’ve missed you both so much,” he said quietly . He planned on jokingly chastising both of them for not visiting at all since September, but Ted knew that his son was preoccupied with things - or rather someone - other than school.

And it didn’t bother him much, because the object of Quentin’s adoration brought his son such happiness--he could hear it in his voice when they talked how joyous he was in his heart. He’d never heard Quentin so at peace with himself.

Now he saw nothing but that familiar disharmony in his son’s soul. But somehow worse than he had ever seen before.

“I missed you so much, Mr. Coldwater,” Julia said with as much a smile as she could muster.

Julia loved Ted Coldwater very much. He was a surrogate father of sorts to her. Her family was far from ideal--rather, actually abusive. Her mother was a cruel woman, her sister no better, and her father had been put away for addiction issues. Everyone worried she’d end up like her dad, but Ted believed this wouldn’t happen. When Julia wanted away from home, she’d run off to the Coldwater home and sleep there. Before Mrs. Coldwater left, she wouldn’t have approved because she simply was the type of person who hated everyone. But she left when Julia and Quentin were twelve, and Julia became a semi permanent resident with her dear best friend and his doting father.

He smiled at Julia and squeezed her hand.

“I missed you son,” Ted prompted gently, playfully running his hand quickly over Quentin’s head.

Quentin was only able to look up for a moment, but kept his eyes averted. “Yeah.”

He bit his bottom lip, it was so cold outside and the wind whipping his face was actually painful. “C-can we, go home?”

Ted nodded with grave concern. “Let’s go you two,” he said, putting his hands on their shoulders and lead them to his car.

It wasn’t unlike when he brought home Quentin after a suicide attempt--and he prepared himself for the worst.

-

“Ey, Eliot,” Eros called out, taking Eliot into an awkward, sloppy embrace. He immediately shuddered at the lack of affection in it. 

Everything around Eliot was so incredibly loud and dizzy, and the overcrowded room swirled with the smell of spilled booze, dirty sex, and something akin to burnt plastic or chemicals. Anyone else who wasn’t used to this scene would have no idea what the latter was. Eliot was all too familiar with it.

“Yeah, hey,” Eliot said, pulling himself out of Eros’s clinging hug, which lingered with its usual over-familiarity that made Eliot extremely uncomfortable. Eros was some rich guy in his 30s, a trust fund baby with his own insane pad in SoHo that had picked up on a barely legal Eliot when he first came to the city. The only ‘work’ he ever did in his life was procuring the best of the best for the party and play scene he was such a shameless patron of.

“Sit with me,” Eros responded with a firmness that sounded more demand than invite, pulling Eliot by the fabric of his shirt and taking him into an intimate corner of the already bustling apartment.

Eliot kept his gaze averted in shame, and when he felt Eros's hand still linger on his fabric, Eliot shook him off.

“It’s been months,” Eros prompted, with a hint of anger in his voice, “you’ve been ignoring me? Trying to make me jealous?”

Eliot’s jaw locked, looking down at his shaking hands. “Do you have what I want?”

Then he peered up with caution. 

Eros picked out of his pocket a packet full of pure white powder visible through the plastic, and with a sly smile, pressed it into Eliot’s hand.

“I’m happy to have you back,” Eros whispered, breath hot on Eliot’s cheek as he sat forward.

_But I made Quentin so unhappy._

He changed for Quentin, he wanted to be good for him, to make him happy. And Quentin made him so happy. And now, Eliot thought, he has completely destroyed him.

He sharply looked down at the table in front of him and saw the glistening rolled bill sitting there, begging to be used. Of course Eros wasted his money to make straws for snorting, he had a bottomless pit of cash.

 _I don’t deserve to live and be happy_ , Eliot sobbed inside himself, as he picked up the straw and hastily opened his packet of coke, making a perfect line on the table and snorting it with an urgency - an urgency to punish himself for what he had done.

Eliot breathed in sharply, and couldn’t find himself able to exhale. He was absolutely breathless as his head stirred and vision blurred. He had forgotten how good it felt to have it in his body.

Eros put his hand on Eliot’s knee. “You owe me payment, you know.”

Eliot patted at his pants and realized with alarm there wasn’t much money on him .He had spent some of his studnet loans on drugs, but he mostly went the route of other ways to pay off his dealers.

“No money,” Eros predicted, “you’ve always been bad at that.” He hand ran up Eliot’s leg, gracing his fingers at Eliot’s waistband. 

Eros leaned in and graced his lips to Eliot’s trembling lips. Eliot immediately pulled back away from it, as dizzy as he was.

**“You owe me,” he demanded, going in to kiss Eliot again with vigor, only for an unwilling Eliot to squeal as if in pain when Eros’s lips landed on his.**

He couldn’t kiss back, he didn’t want it. He never wanted to do this - his slow realization that he was being victimized, despite being under the influence, rose even more inside him. 

Eliot pushed his hands away.

“I think you need to relax,” Eros said, pulling back, angry by Eliot’s hesistence. “You seem so sad, and I missed you so much. I only want to make you feel better!”

Eliot began to tear up and nodded slightly.

Eros broke out a popper from his pocket, and pressed it under Eliot’s nose. “Just inhale, and you can forget everything.”

With hot tears streaming down his face, Eliot inhaled strongly, feeling the violent rush immediately as it racked his body.

“Fuck,” Eliot sobbed, rubbing at his temple. “It hurts.”

“You know I’d never hurt you,” Eros responded sternly, “I’ve always taken care of you.” He kissed Eliot on the head. “I got something special I’ve wanted you to try. But before I go grab it...” 

Eros leaned down, and grabbed one of four needles carefully laid out on the table. He pressed it to Eliot’s biggest vein on his arm and pierced the skin, injecting it while Eliot twisted.

“‘ _Tina_ ’ has missed you,” he whispered, pulling at one of Eliot’s curls. “Just lay back and relax. I want you to be my muse like you used to.”

Eliot, with the most crestfallen eyes, nodded weakly as he laid back on the long ottomon.

He rocked his head  as his heartbeat raced and felt his metabolism and pulse soar. He smiled unwillingly and wriggled through the sharp feeling of euphoria that took him over completely. His skin felt so sensitive, and then an almost unbearable sickness overtook him. There was the familiar warmth of blood streaming from his nose.

God, it felt like a fucking eternity until Eros returned. Perhaps it was - Eros waiting for the potent drugs to settle inside Eliot.

Eliot only knew Eros had returned when he felt him run his hand up his chest.

“It’s Krokodil,” he announced proudly, “It’s some cool shit from Russia. Got it when I was traveling last weekend. Haven’t tried it yet, but you...you deserve the first bite.”

He took Eliot’s wrist in his fingers, kissing the inside of it before he pressed a needle into his skin, injecting with nefarious verve.

“Supposed to be flesh eating or something,” Eros muttered, as he swung himself over Eliot. “But only after long use I guess? But why not try some good foreign shit, ya know?”

The terror that seized Eliot’s heart was unlike anything he had felt before, but he couldn’t verbalize a single utterance. He felt frozen in place and unable to move as Eros began to unbutton Eliot’s shirt, tonguing a fiercely afraid Eliot filthily in his mouth as he moved to tug at Eliot’s waistband.

“You owe me for how kind I’ve been to you,” Eros said firmly, “you took a lot of what is mine. I’m so generous to you, all I want is your cock in my mouth as payment, and for you to come for me all prettily like you have before. You’re not gonna swindle me out of any sort of reimbursement.”

He pressed Eliot down on the long leather ottomon, kissing down his chest as he got down to Eliot’s belt. He ghosted a kiss to Eliot’s hip bone as he pulled his pants off. It was then Eliot felt the touch of Eros’ lips open mouthed on his bulge, with a ceaseless, desperate kissing and sucking that made Eliot unbearably nauseous.

His eyes met Eros’s, who was watching hotly for Eliot’s reaction to being ‘pleasured.’

But then, a strange spark lit up in Eliot. A strange force gathered and gathered inside him - until it exploded.

The next moment, he was sitting up, and felt clarity through the high, as Eros writhed in pain against a gleaming marble pillar. Eliot quickly collected himself, and without a stumble or a trip, walked briskly out of the apartment and made his way downstairs.

**When he hastily found himself outside, he felt himself choking despite the whirl of powerful magic in him that was able to help him escape.**

Everything was dizzying around him, and his body felt heavier than he could carry it. At once, he collapsed on the side of the street and fluttered his eyes closed as he fell completely unconscious.

Quentin’s image was the last thing he saw.

-

Ted and Quentin and Julia had a funny tradition since Mrs. Coldwater left her husband and son. They spent Thanksgiving day from 8am marathoning Quentin and Julia favorite fantasy films--The Princess Bride, The Black Caldron, The Wizard of Oz, Jumanji, one of each of the Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings movies, and finally Labyrinth.

The movie, of course, that gave Quentin his sexual awakening and made him realize he was bisexual.

Breakfast was coffee and muffins, lunch pizza with ridiculous toppings, and Thanksgiving dinner? The best Chinese food in Jersey! Topped off with some bakery-bought pies - pumpkin, cherry, lemon, strawberry - to pig out on (Julia once tried to bake pies with Quentin when they were thirteen. The house almost burned down. Never happened again).

Quentin always had trouble eating because of his depression, but he tried to be cheerful when he could. And with the two people he loved most--Julia and Ted--and doing everything he loved, gave him a merriness in the muck. But there was the one Thanksgiving after his mother had left that Julia nor Ted could rouse Quentin out of his darkness, and it ended in near tragedy.

Julia and Ted watched Quentin with terror as they attempted to watch the movies, only for Quentin not to take one bite, or say one word. They would hear him sniffling, or sigh, or choke. He was as unreachable as the sun.

Dinner was quiet and morose. No one really spoke, and Quentin ended up excusing himself when tears threatened to fall. He quickly ran up to his bedroom.

Julia and Ted attempted to continue eating, but they were so nervous they had lost their appetite.

In vain they tried to scarf something down, and when it came down to the pies--and Ted broke out Quentin’s favourite, cherry--the silent conversation he had been having with Julia finally vocalized.

“Should we check on him now?” Ted said with fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to bother him. I don’t even know what happened.”

Julia frowned. “I don’t…know exactly the details. But it has something to do with Eliot. Eliot’s presence has caused such a positive change in Quentin… I can’t think it could be anything else than Eliot being a dick or something.”

Ted nodded. He knew well about Eliot and how happy he made Quentin. Quentin wasn’t a huge sharer, so the very fact that he called his dad and told him shyly but merrily about Eliot was notable part of his transformation.

“I don’t think he should be alone,” Julia decided after a moment, standing up from the table. “He might be hurting himself…”

Ted nodded and stood up. “I think he’d rather you go see him.”

Julia ran up with incredible haste to Quentin’s bedroom and found him already under his sheets, disarrayed and messy as his eyes were closed tight with tears dropping. He was crying in his sleep.

She walked over to make sure Quentin was breathing. His breath was one of that of a person slumbering, but he writhed and sighed in his sleep.

She sat on the floor and took his hand tenderly. At once, the memories in the room swelled her heart with happiness and broke it to pieces. They hid in the room so much, creating their Fillory map, dorking out on fantasy and comics, pigged out on crappy food, but she also had caught him self harming multiple times and once found him bloody and near dead.

She wouldn’t, couldn’t let it ever happen again.

-

“I don’t know what to do,” Ted said with sorrow to Julia, his hands in his lap with lidded eyes, “And I’m sorry that I am putting this on you.”

Julia shook her head sadly, and took Ted’s hand. “We’re in this together.”

He smiled weakly.

It was now Saturday, and Quentin had been bedridden for two days. It was the vegetative state they had seen so many times, but this seemed somehow the worst one of them all.

Eliot had give him true happiness, and in one soulless attack, ripped it completely away.

They went to him as much as they could. He wouldn’t eat, or even drink water. They gently tried to press him to do so, especially for the latter, but he just looked at them with vacant eyes and said nothing, rolling over on his other side.

He didn’t openly weep in their presence, but when he slept, which was most of the time, he sobbed in his sleep.

They’d hear him say brokenly, “E-E-liot.” He had other strange bodily movements when he slept: they’d see him smile in his sleep and hug himself while saying Eliot’s name, as if Eliot was hugging him. Then his face would go dark, as he gasped loudly and broke into heartbreaking weeping.

Julia was so fucking infuriated with Eliot she would write texts to him, like “you’re a cunt and worthless”, “Q is literally on the verge of killing himself because of you, you twat,” “you literally better never show up to see him again lmaooo.” But when her finger covered over send, she couldn’t do it. She’d just write and delete.

She wasn’t sure exactly what stopped her, she certainly couldn’t name it. Eliot _had_ touched her life, too, in a positive, unchangeable way that touched her deeply. But how could he do that to Quentin, it was unfathomable and made her shake with hot anger.

On Saturday night, Ted and Julia sat around in high terror. They watched TV together and ordered food, but they were constantly checking on Quentin, who would only get out of bed to go to the bathroom. When they heard his steps creak, they immediately panicked and ran up to make sure he wasn’t hurting himself.

And particularly rougher steps this night put them into horror, nearly tripping on the steps to him.

“Quentin!” Julia cried, opening the door in a swing.

But Quentin wasn’t in the bathroom, he was sitting on his bed with his knees up to his chest, staring blankly into space.

Julia and Ted approached slowly.

“Q…” she whispered, reaching her hand out to touch his shoulder.

Her fingers on him unlocked the storm stirring inside him.

“W-why would he do that to me,” he sobbed madly, mourning deeply in uncontrollable tears at his loss, leaning forward and clutching his stomach as if in violent pain.

Julia knelt by his side. “Q, I have told you this before, but please, please listen: this is _your_ life and today is all you've got now.”

It was sage advice--she reminded Quentin his life was his own, and to try to live in the present.

He laid back and turned his head away slightly, but Julia tenderly pulled him back, putting her hand on his forehead.

Ted sat on the bed nexto Quentin, and took his hand in his.

“I-I thought my l-life was finally…” Quentin choked back a sob, as Julia softly ran her fingers through his disarayed hair. “Everything I dreamed.”

What Quentin said next made time stop.

When he pulled the blanket over his face, his cried almost silently, breathlessly, “I l-l-l....” But he couldn’t choke out the word he wanted to utter.

“Oh, Q,” Ted said, moving closer to him, and touching his face. He wanted to say, you can’t let your happiness rely on somebody else. And it was true. But it seemed strangely unfitting and almost cruel to say to Quentin - this was a genuine ...those _four letters_ unlike anything he’d ever seen.

They only been together for a couple of months - that word terrified Ted for his son. He was also _always_ scared that Quentin would attach himself to someone and end up wanting to find validation for himself through them. But Eliot...Eliot helped Quentin open up. To begin to love himself and find validation in his own pursuits. Eliot wasn’t just a boyfriend--he was a kindred spirit, a protector, a hero in his own unique way, that Quentin always needed.

“H-he snapped at m-me when I asked him to come with me for Thanksgiving weekend, to spend with my family,” Quentin sniffed, eyes red and puffy as he stared at the ceiling. His lip trembled violently, “it hurt so much. I don’t understand, we were so happy… And he stole it from me.”

Ted looked to Julia, and understood the look that passed her face. 

“Quentin,” he began gently, “I don’t know much about who Eliot it, but he sounds like a young man who is also in deep pain. That is in no way an excuse for the way he reacted to you. But it could be something to do with his...unhealthy behavior before meeting you.” He brushed the tears off Quentin’s cheeks. “I know your mother, she hurt us so bad. Maybe his father hurt him badly, too. Or his family. I don’t know, but all I do know is that you connect in such unearthly ways.”

Quentin finally looked at his father.

“I don’t think it’s over,” Ted promised, “there’s something so much to this. And more for you two.”

Quentin closed his eyes. There was a strange stirring in the depths of his soul. He sighed, and felt his hand reach out to grab an entity that wasn’t actually there. It was flashes, broken and blurry and faster than the speed of sound, but he could see light, and felt the warmth that enveloped his body. There were burts of unbridled happiness in images he couldn’t quite make out, but that held such an incredibly deep, other wordly, exciting feeling that seemed to be presenting a choice of not fate, but of two _destinies_ : one with Eliot, and one without. And the choice of being with Eliot offered a life of bliss and affection and tenderness that was endless. He couldn’t feel the choice of a life without Eliot--and perhaps that is what made him make his scary, but unwavering choice.

“I-I will talk to him when I get back tomorrow,” Quentin choked out, wiping at his eyes. “We will see.”

Ted nodded with hope in his eyes.

Julia smiled. “How about you drink some water and eat something, and then I will read you book one of Fillory.”

Quentin matched her smile, and squeezed her fingers between his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really appreciate comments <3


	9. The Fight For You is All I've Ever Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none.”  
> Madeline Miller, “Circe"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I just started uni, so that's why this is a week "late" from the attempted every two week update, lol.
> 
> Thank you cyn (indestrucress) for all of your help!<3333333

Quentin’s hand hung over the door, caught between the whirling sting of his unreadable emotions, the fear of what awaited him beyond the door, and the mindfulness this was supposed to be the quiet wing. (Even though he and Eliot seldom were.)

His chin trembled as he lightly tapped the door with carefulness. It was like Quentin to be passive and mild, even if he was the one who was hurt. But when he heard nobody stir inside, he felt the heavy sadness behind his eyes give way to something more fiery he hadn’t felt yet. All that had churned in his veins the last few days was total despair and a near surrender to an unhappy life, but now… the blood was starting to boil.

He had taken the bus back to New York City with Julia the Sunday morning after. He was still despondent, but not unresponsive when Julia would take his hand and smile, and encourage him everything would be okay. After they went back to Julia’s pretty dorm and freshened up after hours in a traffic induced drive into the city, she walked with him over to Eliot’s apartment. She offered to wait for him outside, but Quentin gently protested.

“I-I don’t want it to be a bother to you, it’s so cold out,” he had said, swinging her hands in his.

“Nothing you do is a bother to me,” Julia responded smilingly.

All the same, he asked her to go home to the warmth of her bedroom so he could do what he needed to do. And now he was here, on the precipice of what felt like such a pivotal moment in his life.

The next knock was louder than before, and when there was still no answer, he banged his palms on the door with a ferocity he had never felt before in his whole life.

The door opened slowly as he smacked its white wood again, and there stood Eliot, so painfully disheveled Quentin had to take a step back. It was shocking, and it was somehow sadder than he had seen when he found Eliot self-detoxing. 

“I thought you were someone else…” Eliot said quietly, his eyes unable to meet Quentin’s. He didn’t want Quentin to see the terrible shame that reflected in his bloodshot hues.

He naturally moved to take Quentin’s hand, to feel the warmth of his fingers between his, but Quentin stepped back again. Quentin’s eyes were wide and stinging with tears and he just couldn’t touch Eliot. He didn’t, again, want to feel that heartbreaking foreignness in the touch of the man he adored so much, who adored him back with the same passionate worship.

Eliot flinched from Quentin’s rejection, but wholly felt he deserved far worse.

He was afraid it was Eros wanting his full repayment after last night, but the terror of seeing the sadness in Quentin’s eyes again was harder to bear.

“Q…” Eliot began, before trailed off, opening the door for Quentin to come in.

Quentin lowered his lids and walked in, looking around but not at Eliot.

“They’re still with their families,” Eliot sniffed, walking over to his bedroom door. He of course meant his roomates. Quentin caught the emptiness and lack of warmth when Eliot said it. The word ‘families’ he seemed to almost choke on.

“Oh,” Quentin said under his breath, then took his steps toward Eliot. He got an arms length away from Eliot, who held open his door, before he decided to look up at him through his long lashes.

It somehow made Quentin _angrier_ Eliot wouldn’t look at him, and it flashed in his eyes.

“You’re an absolute asshole!”  Quentin snapped, with a stamp of his foot. “Why didn't you even try calling me, like, at all this weekend, huh?”

Eliot turned away in shame, unable to bear Quentin snapping at him. He screwed his eyes closed and willed himself not to cry, even though his chin began to tremble.

Quentin waited for an answer, and felt so wounded by Eliot turning away from him. He reached out with both arms and shoved Eliot against the doorway. It was without force and wasn’t rough in any way, but Eliot winced with a slight groan and despise how infuriated he was, Quentin eyes grew full of deep alarm.

He looked at Eliot’s hands and ankles, and saw cuts and bruises maligning his beautiful skin. Quentin had been seeing red this whole time he hadn’t even noticed Eliot was wounded.

“Jesus, El,” Quentin breathed, taking Eliot’s hands in his, flipping them gently over and back to examine them. Quentin began to push up Eliot’s sleeves to see how far the bruises went.

“Q, please…” Eliot said weakly. He absolutely did not want Quentin to see his fresh track marks that pierced his skin. But when Eliot was brought to the hospital and fully revived by its staff, he left immediately with his wounds unattended to. He was totally uninsured, and couldn’t afford to stay beyond not being dead.

Quentin brushed his fingers over the badly discolored injection scar on Eliot’s wrist, and tenderly ran them up to the inside of Eliot’s elbow, where another violent puncture wound was inflicted. The person who had put the needles in Eliot were careless and vicious.

“Who did this?” Quentin asked frightfully, looking up at Eliot with a troubled gaze.

Eliot didn’t answer. He didn’t want Quentin to be suspicious of him any further, or for Quentin to think he had been unfaithful or something by mentioning the guy who had harmed him. But Quentin’s kindly fingers on the bruised skin made Eliot fill up with feelings of devotion to this young man he so adored.

Quentin gently pulled Eliot into his room, helping him sit on his bed before he went to the bathroom and fetched some bandages and antibacterial solution and cloth.

Eliot flinched in pain as Quentin cleaned him up, but he also cherished being touched with such affection from a beauty like Quentin.

“I wish I had the magic to make this all go away….” Quentin whispered sadly under his breath, as he finished wrapping up the wounds. He wanted to lean down and kiss the bandaged skin - maybe it would make Eliot feel better? - but he resisted with his _own_ feelings of how much pain Eliot had caused him still swirling.

 _Magic._ Eliot almost laughed. Quentin’s love of magic made his heart soar, and he didn’t know how to tell Quentin it was real but nothing like he would want. He wanted to protect Quentin’s innocence in that regard - magic caused Eliot pain. Or rather, emboldened the shockingly profound suffering he endured growing up.

It was Quentin who was truly, purely magical--a bewitching, genuine soul with the tenderest of hearts who somehow fell for Eliot. Eliot didn’t understand why Quentin wanted to be with him, but they were in such incredible harmony - even in this most agonizing moment, the beautiful balance between the two was palpable. Quentin was what Eliot had been fighting for all his life, without even realizing it.

 _I don’t deserve him_ , Eliot thought devastatingly, _I’ve ruined us._

Quentin looked up at Eliot genially. “What happened?”

Eliot still kept his gaze averted, and his words tumbled out with biting edges. “Oh you know, just the stuff I was doing before I met you and tried to change.”

The frost in Eliot’s voice made Quentin tear up. He didn’t understand why Eliot was being so cruel to him. He never understood why people were cruel to him, but Eliot doing it was a carefully sharpened dagger to an already broken heart.

“This was a complete and total fucking mistake to come here!” Quentin hissed with angry tears hot on his cheek, removing his fingers gently from Eliot’s skin and moving to leave.

“Q!” Eliot cried out, taking his boyfriend’s hand with careful tenderness, which made Quentin stop and look Eliot in the face wonderingly.

Eliot raised his gaze to Quentin’s, and it was devastating to see the damage he had caused to Quentin’s soul reflected in those haunting brown eyes. 

“I’m not--” he began, but cut himself off.

Quentin furrowed his brows. “If, uh, y-you had just come with me none of this would have happened, El.”

That sent Eliot back into his wicked defenses. “I didn’t want to go to your stupid dad’s house, okay?” he snapped at Quentin cruelly. “I’d rather stick myself with thirty needles than do that shit.”

Sharply pulling back, Quentin ripped his hand from Eliot’s grip and moved to get up again.

“No, please,” Eliot reached out and managed to take Quentin’s fingers between his, “ _please_ don’t leave me.”

Eliot sounded so _small_ , so sorrowful when he spoke that it stopped Quentin from shaking him off. In was an inflection that Quentin knew very well from himself. A bereavement of losing something you hadn’t even had, something _other_ people had but that evaded you. Seemingly irreplaceable, maybe even untouchable.

“Only you have the power to make me leave…” Quentin began sadly, “and you’re acting like you want me to run away and never come back.” He brushed his thumb gently over Eliot’s knuckles. “W-when I all want, I-I _need_ to do is be by your side.”

Eliot was such a mystery to Quentin, but he felt he knew him to the depths of his soul. He hadn’t realized until now, it ran as deeply as them both being champions of unhappiness. They were perfectly paralleled human beings, and their individual stories had finally become one,  molding together so smoothly, surely, and spectacularly it was as if they were always meant to converge at some point.

“I just don’t think…” Eliot started, kissing Quentin on his hand, “I don’t need a family, I don’t need one to become who I am supposed to be. Whatever it is.”

Quentin’s face softened. “I wasn’t asking you to become my family…” 

Or had he without realizing it?

“Please don’t feel sorry for me,” Eliot responded quietly, rubbing Quentin’s fingers, “Not you, please. ”

Quentin touched his fingers to Eliot’s cheek, his ever understanding eyes sparkling with tears. “Eliot, please tell me what happened. I won’t be angry with you.” He leaned in and kissed Eliot tenderly on the cheek, which made Eliot sniffle.

Now Quentin was close to his face, and their eyes were locked. Eliot couldn’t escape his gaze, and he didn’t want to. It was a gaze filled with such kind-heartedness, unwavering appreciation and affection Eliot wanted to stay forever looking into Quentin’s eyes.

“I...I told you a longtime ago I grew up on a farm, yeah?” Eliot started, wiping at the tears in his eyes. “I’m...I’m from Indiana, Q.”

Quentin nodded and affectionately tucked a loose curl of Eliot’s hair behind his ear. “Okay.”

Eliot searched Quentin’s eyes for disgust or judgement, but he saw nothing reflecting back but the purity of Quentin’s sweetness.

“My family, uh. They’re, like, farmers. I grew up ankle deep in shit, it was all quite awful.” He would’ve added a small chuckle to his words, but any affectation he’d spent years building up couldn’t stand in the face of the honesty of Quentin Coldwater’s soul. “My brothers...older, I have two. Very athletic, incredibly redneck, and you know, bullies. Like at school, I was...bullied terribly.”

Quentin stroked Eliot’s hair. He knew being bullied horribly at school all too well. Him and Julia learned card tricks just to get through it, they had each other. But who did Eliot have?

“But, um yeah, but my dad...like, okay, my mom…” Eliot stopped and felt the painful sting in his nose that indicated a flood was coming, but he held back as much as he could. “I don’t know, I think she loved me. But my dad...he hurt her a lot so I never really got to know her, because she was always being worked to death in the fields and in the household by those animals I was cursed with being brother and son.”

God, Eliot wished he had a cigarette, he hadn’t smoked his favorite Merits in months. But he had quit chain smoking, he didn’t want to smell like the shit when he held or kissed Quentin.

“Anyway, yeah. My father was...so violent. He hit all of us, really, but I was the smallest and I ‘di’n’t come out reg’lar’ and my brothers turned out to be like him and it was all so miserable.” Eliot smiled sadly. “I did have a friend, though. His name was Taylor...I thought of killing myself so many times being bullied, but he was always there.” 

Now he looked away in shame, but Quentin touched his cheek. “But you know he was bullied too and one time...I joined in on him being kicked around, I fucking kicked him in the stomach, Q. This wonderful friend that never judged me for being gay or poor or whatever, but fuck, I hurt him. I avoided him from thereon, I couldn’t even apologize...I’m not good at it, I never heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ growing up.”

He looked meaningfully into Quentin’s eyes. He wanted to ask, _please forgive me, Q._ But that wasn’t exactly an apology, either.

“Um, so yeah, before that had happened….” Eliot swallowed. How could he possibly tell Quentin about Kinear? Now the tears that had been pooling his eyes streamed down his cheeks in earnest, his face as stingingly red as the puffiness below his eyes. It was such a fucking lonely secret to carry with him, and the only person he wanted to tell...yes, Quentin loved magic, but could he handle it being real? And Eliot using magic to kill someone?

“..I became my worst person, I think…” He bit back a violent sob as Quentin listened with unabiding openness and deep appreciation. Quentin took both of Eliot’s hands in his and laced their fingers together perfectly.

 _We work_ , Eliot thought, gazing at his boyfriend’s gentle face, feeling his fingers between his, _Quentin and me...we work._

“Anyways, Q, my dad caught me trying to kiss Trevor…” Eliot whimpered as he added, “it was an almost murderous reaction, he had. Just, an inhuman savageness that scarred me so terribly.”

Quentin nodded understandingly, kissing Eliot on the forehead and whispering sadly, “I’m sorry that happened, El.” They were both horrifically scarred, but they could heal _together._

As if hearing Quentin’s thoughts, Eliot proclaimed through tears, “But you, I see no scars. You're Quentin Coldwater.”

Quentin gasped, shaking his head. “Y-You’re the only one who makes me feel like I could maybe love myself. You, Eliot Waugh. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.”

Eliot exhaled, squeezing Quentin’s hands. With a whirl of a new, untapped energy he had never felt before, he sat up straight and gently pulled in Quentin closer.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Q,” Eliot finally choked out, sobs wracking him as he kissed Quentin’s face, “I am so, so sorry. I hurt you so bad. And it is all my fault.” 

“The day after you left…”  Eliot pulled back a little to look deeply into Quentin’s hues. “I, you know, messaged my old dealer and I went to his place. I didn't have the money to pay him for...the coke I asked for and he tried to get payment in another way. But he, uh…” 

God, Eliot had never felt such deep humiliation as he did right now, and admitting what transpired to Quentin was unreal and _terrifying_. “He shot me up with some stuff, you know, and demanded repayment. He crawled all over me, and I, uh, I couldn’t fight him off. He tried to take my clothes off and pawed at me...and I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I escaped but I let it happen and I didn’t mean to do it….”

 _That_ shocked Quentin into complete silence. Not out of a feeling of betrayal of any sort, but that Eliot was blaming himself for being _victimized_ . When Quentin finally felt he had mustered the words to tell Eliot it wasn’t his fault at all, that he was a victim of some sick predatory fuck, that he had _nothing_ to apologize for - Eliot began to speak again.

 “If you don’t forgive me, and want to leave…I understand...” Eliot squeezed his eyes at the thought of Quentin getting up and walking out of his life. “But please, what can I do to make it better?”

Quentin raised his eyes, which filled with pathos, and nodded softly. With careful touch, he stood up and crawled onto the bed with Eliot, rubbing his head in the crane of Eliot’s neck - but his gaze remained ever unwavering on Eliot’s face.

 He knew _absolutely_ what he needed to say to Eliot.  



	10. All Wounds Heal, Even the Deepest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them.”  
> ― Leo Tolstoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As in uni now, my chapter updates will be every 2 to 3 weeks. :) But oh, the end is not far! Then that epilogue.... ;) Thank you guys so much <3 Follow me on tumblr for updates!!!! @juliacaesaris

“This could be the most extra one you’ve taken me to so far,” Quentin teased, rubbing his cold bare feet on Eliot’s, seeking his warmth.

Eliot looked down at Quentin reverently, kissing the top of his head. The golden flecks in Eliot’s eyes had regained their ethereal sparkle in the last few weeks, and it was no doubt thanks to his Q’s gentle touch and kindness.

“This is the original one too,” Eliot replied smilingly, “we could have gone to the one in Flatiron, which is closer, I guess - but I wouldn’t give you anything less than the best.”

Quentin smiled and kissed Eliot on the cheek. “Newly flown-in fresh Colombian coffee beans are  _ all _ that I have dreamt of.” He laughed and cuddled Eliot, who pulled him in closer protectively.

The Devoción was a delightful Williamsburg coffee shop that was rather sizable and open, with the smell of some of the freshest coffee around floating in the air.

It was very cozy and lowkey, with a decorative plant-covered wall and chandeliers dangling with flowers above head as Quentin and Eliot sat on a plum colored leather sofa in a corner. The tremendous skylight on the ceiling revealed the unbelievable wintry frost of the season that finally captured New York City. Not even the faded brick of the coffee shop’s walls could fend off the sharp iciness brewing outside.

But Quentin figured he would risk the frostbite and kick off his shoes, his feet dangling on the stone floor. So what else could Eliot do besides tell Quentin he should be them back on? He of course, took his off too, so he could stroke Quentin’s toes with his own. It’s _ exactly  _ what Quentin wanted, and Eliot didn’t miss the hint.

It had taken them time to get back what they had, but it felt different. But in a  _ positive _ and _ stronger  _ way. Eliot wanted to show Quentin he wasn’t just made of promises after Quentin poured his heart out to him.   
  


_ “I d-don’t know if I can forgive you quite yet, for saying what you said,” Quentin said, with the saddest eyes, that, nevertheless, reflected incredible hope. And it was such a terrifying and real moment for him to speak so honestly. “I-it will take me time to. I, um.” He smiled through his tears. “I need you and I, uh, I think you need me too.”  _

_ Eliot kissed Quentin’s hand. “When I had said ‘I got you’ before...I mean it, Q. I’ll protect you.” _

_ Quentin’s smile reached his eyes, and he took Eliot’s face tenderly between his fingers. “And El...you didn’t cause it, being assaulted, that wasn’t your fault. I promise. Please don’t think you did...” _

Eliot couldn’t help but be more involved and open with Quentin from that moment forward. The conflict had forced them into conversations that strengthened their bond. Now they were healing.  _ Together. _

“I  _ sooooo _ told you you’d do well on your finals,” Quentin squeaked, sipping at the smooth and fruity Cuttura latte, savoring its taste but bitterly regretting that drinking it ruined the pretty latte art of seven small keys in a circle. Eliot always knew best.

“I knew you would too.” Eliot kissed Quentin fully on the lips, tasting the citrus. Then he hesitated a moment, before asking, “Maybe, we can like...go away for winter break?”

Quentin looked puzzled at Eliot but not displeased, pulling playfully at the folds of Eliot’s black coat. “But we’re poor students.”

Eliot grinned. “True. Nevertheless….” He played with the top button of Quentin’s blue top, moving in to press soft kisses to Quentin’s jaw.

Quentin purred, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s curls. “I do know who is going away, though. James.”

Eliot pulled back a little, concerned. “Not with Julia?”

“No,” Quentin replied, “he’s leaving her behind like he usually does.” He thought a moment. “How about you, um, stay with me you know, after I get back from my dad’s. And we can have winter fun, uh, with Julia...and perhaps, Jane?”

Quentin had thought of inviting Eliot to come home with him for Christmas, but he did not. He wondered, searching Eliot’s sad eyes, if he had wanted to be asked to come.

“I never really got the chance to explore the city really…” Quentin continued, caressing Eliot’s cheek. “School is crazy and the only other times I was in the city was...when I was, i-in...that place….” He felt the threat of tears, painfully piercing his sinuses, and looked away. “Yeah.”

Eliot turned his head a little and kissed the inside of Quentin’s palm. “You’re beautiful and that sounds just as fun as going away, even if I’m already there all the time.”

“True.” Quentin flushed. “I know it’ll be only a day and a half, but God I will miss you so much.”

Eliot nodded, biting his bottom lip. Another lonely Christmas, he thought. But then how can he could be lonely if Quentin was somewhere alive in the world, thinking of Eliot as much as Eliot was thinking of Quentin? Quentin would be back, he knew, even if being apart for such a little bit was agonizing, they’d be back in each other’s arms soon enough.

“I think,” Eliot began, tracing Quentin’s lips with his index finger, “you’d look super cute ice skating. We should when you get back.”

Quentin laughed, jokingly biting at Eliot’s finger. “You know I don’t know how!”

“Exactly,” Eliot responded, kissing his Q on the forehead, “I get to hold your hand the whole way.” 

-

Eliot  _ hoped _ he picked it out right.

It held felt like eternity over the last couple days. Quentin left the night before Christmas Eve and stayed on through the morning after Christmas. 

Eliot and Quentin called each other several times a day, so lengthy their calls they had to charge their phones mid way through. They laughed and comforted each other, but it was in  _ NO _ way the same as holding Quentin in his arms, as they locked legs and talked endlessly about anything between warm kisses.

All his life, Eliot had thought he  _ had _ to be being punished for some preborn defect from the moment he left his mother’s womb. The environment he grew up in sure as Hell preached that some, many people were predestined for eternal damnation, and Eliot was particularly singled out from a young age. It was as if he had a stamp of evil on his forehead visible to all as a warning label this was some severely broken kid. He grew to hate the world, and people ...what had people ever done for him? At ten he was thrown in the fucking trash in a tirade of homophobic slurs for pressing his slacks. He got more of a verbal torrent of anti-gay abuse from his dad when he came to pick him up at school. He wondered why even kept on his existence,  _ what was the point?  _ He had thought darkly.

But now...Eliot knew genuine kindness, adoration, and tenderness in the form of a person. And that person was Quentin - no less broken and lonely but their pieces fit perfectly. Quentin had become Eliot’s whole world - and Quentin inspired him to be good and happy in his life. Because he was so fucking happy now, beyond the expression of words. Afraid to lose it, yes, but now he grabbed for it like a child who reaches out to the stars to rest one from the cosmos - except Eliot had actually grasped the star, and it was his Q. He thought of Lizzie Bennet in Pride and Prejudice -- “I must learn to be content with being happier than I deserve.” 

Yeah, Julia’s fangirling of Jane Austen had rubbed off on him a little. He was grateful for it, she was so dear to him. But it Quentin’s deep love of the Fillory series that seized his heart. He still hadn’t told Quentin he was reading the series. He was now just starting _ The Girl Who Told Time - _ it took him the larger part of the fall semester to finish _ The World in the Walls _ . 

And it was exactly the stories of those indomitable Chatwin children that worried Eliot if what he picked--

“Eliot!” Quentin called out, and Eliot ran to him, embracing Quentin so tight his boyfriend’s heels lifted off the floor. He pulled back gently and took Quentin’s mouth to his with passion. He truly did not give one fuck what any shadow around him thought. Quentin had taught him how to be brave.

“I miss you so much,” Quentin said blushingly between kisses.

Eliot playfully rubbed Quentin’s nose. “You’re cold. I don’t like it.” Eliot took his own black coat off and draped it lovingly over Quentin’s shoulders.

Sure, Quentin could protest, tell Eliot he should keep his coat on because he’ll be cold without it! But that usual playfulness gave way to wanting every piece of Eliot he could get, so he smilingly let Eliot wrap him up. The sleeves were long, going over Quentin’s fingers, and Eliot found it super cute.

Quentin took Eliot’s hand as they glided through the bustling halls of the famous Penn Station. He’d been here several times in his life but among all the people, he felt so terribly alone. Now he wondered, with Eliot by his side, if everyone else had someone like his El waiting for them when they arrived. Quentin was incredibly overjoyed to come off a train and  _ belong _ to someone, with such warm and loving arms to fall into, to feel completely safe and absolutely cherished.

“Did you have fun with your, uh, dad?” Eliot asked as cheerily as possible, wanting so badly to be supportive of Quentin. He squeezed his boyfriend’s fingers tenderly.

“Yeah it was just him and Julia and me, as usual.” Quentin smiled, returning Eliot’s squeeze.

Christmas Eve was a bit more eventful than usual for Quentin - since Juia was helping him find the _ “must be perfect!!!!” _ Christmas presents for Eliot. And oh, did it end in Julia nearly  _ killing _ him! They took the bus down to Red Bank, with all of its elegant boutiques, bakeries, and art galleries. And while they ended up bickering over EVERYTHING and got so lost it took them an hour to find the bus stop, the trip still bore fruit.

Quentin couldn’t help himself and pull Eliot into another kiss as they hit the blizzard outside that was awaited them.

“What’s our plans?” Quentin asked excitedly, shivering and pressing as close as possible into Eliot for warmth. “You mentioned we were doing something with Julia.”

“Not _ just _ Julia,” Eliot put in with a catlike grin. “Oh honey, you know I must work  _ everything  _ to perfection.”

As Eliot spoke Quentin stepped on a wet, torn array of red pedals. He looked up and saw the small rose garden that dotted the exit of Penn Station was bare, the only remnants of its existence under his heel. It made him curl up into Eliot, as if frightened by his realization that fall was _ truly  _ over.

Eliot kissed Quentin on the head, suspecting his alarm. “Q, are you alright?”

Quentin looked up and mustered a genuine smile. God, Eliot’s glittery hues truly could bring him back to himself. “Yes, sorry! And oh, I have a feeling a character from the Fillory books will be making an appearance where you are taking me?”

“Something like that,” Eliot said quietly with a small smile, running his fingers through Quentin’s beautiful head of hair. “But tonight, I’d like you to myself.”

-

Julia hugged herself, waiting for Eliot and Quentin in the sharp frost, standing by the giant ass decked out Christmas tree that overlooked the angelically glowing but bustling ice rink of Rockefeller Center. She was pretending to smoke by breathing in and out between her fingers. She kinda wanted a real cig.

She had just about had it with James. When Eliot and Quentin had reconciled, she thought:  _ maybe I can work it out with James too! _ But that was the thought process of any woman who was taught to rely on a man for comfort. Eliot and Quentin were made for each other, James was a basic bitch who got pleasure out of emotionally stabbing Julia. Eliot would never, ever. Eliot was in pain, Quentin was in pain, and they were healing together. James caused that kind of pain to people.

She had a big decision to make - whether to leave his ass, or try to stay in it for now. Eliot wanted to help her along to the former.

Jul-i-a Wi-ck-er! ” somebody sang with the most melodious voice. Julia turned around and blushed deeply. She couldn’t blame it on the cold.

“Jane Chatwin?” Julia asked playfully, a skip to her step as she went straight to Jane. “That cannot be you!”

“I’m a witchy woman, Julia,” Jane responded, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of Julia’s curls behind her ear. “I can go anywhere in any world. But no, not Jane Chatwin. Just your Jane.”

“You look lovely,” Julia quietly responded, smiling shyly. She loved Jane’s black ripped jeans topped by a plaid shirt with a sparkly caramel sweater. Her braids were swept up beautifully in a loose bun at the nape of her slim neck. “And sound lovely.” She crimsoned further. “Eliot told me you’re a music major?”

“Yeah, voice at Julliard, no biggie,” Jane shrugged her shoulders playfully, taking Julia’s gloved hand. “About as cool as Julia the Columbia political scientist.”

“And literature,” Julia teased, swinging their hands lightly, “and neither as cool as being the next big lyric soprano.”

Jane lifted her eyebrow, quite impressed Julia could tell her voice type. “You have good ears.” She used her free hand to gently pinch Julia’s ear. “And cute ones as well.” Her gaze lingered on Julia’s, and for a warm moment they shared an intimate eyelock. Julia became incredibly heated.

“Oh, it’s Eliot and Quentin!” Julia said sharply, wrenching herself almost violently from the moment, jumping and waving in large circles at her best friend and his boyfriend. 

Quentin winced - it wasn’t like Julia to be so expressive when greeting him. She was just as avoiding of affection as Eliot could be. Now it was his turn to be the overzealous “shipper.”

“You both are sooooo cute!” Quentin cried out, “Julia is such a good skater, Jane.” He nodded towards Julia’s sparkly pink ice skates at her side. “Look how pretty they are! You don’t need to hold her hand, but you should.”

Julia flushed hotly, and wanted to absolutely smash Quentin. But Jane turned to her and smiled deeply, and it softened Julia completely.

-

“You got this, Q?” Julia heard Eliot laugh, trying to hold up Quentin on the ice as he kept slipping.

“Yeah,” Quentin whispered nervously, “as long as I got you.”

But Julia? Julia did truly have it like Eliot. Eliot’s father strongly disaproved of ice skating - thought it was “too gay” - but Eliot still practiced it behind his dad’s back. Julia was no less talented, and like Eliot used it to cope with her emotions. She would skate at this beautiful discrete pond in Montclair, that felt like a slice of a magical winter wonderland, perhaps in Narnia. Sometimes Quentin would go there with her and just watch and read. And when the snow finally melted, with sadness she would put away her skates.

Jane noticed how quiet Julia was being as moved her body effortlessly. “Lost in a dream?” she prompted with a small smile.

Julia looked up with sparkling eyes. “Caught in a memory.” She bit her bottom lip. “Which you have thankfully now awakened me from.”

Jane reached out and took Julia’s hand. “Show me what you’re made of.”

“You have any idea what you’re in for?” Julia purred, lowering her eyebrows playfully, as she whirled Jane around delicately.

“With you?” Jane laughed, perfectly synchronizing with Julia’s deft movements. “Never.”

“You trust me though, yeah?” Julia’s grin felt frozen on her face as she picked up speed.

Julia paraded Jane by the waist and pulled her into a natural rhythm, swinging her around gaily and with all her strength smoothly picked up the lithe Jane, who, when she got down on her feet, swung Julia down as if she were to kiss her. 

Jane was  _ just _ as good an ice dancer.

They hadn’t even noticed people had stopped to watch them ice dance.

Their bodies grinded together easily and it made Julia absolutely breathless. They spun around together to a stop, with Julia having her hands clasped around Jane’s neck as Jane held her by her slim waist.

Oh, did Julia ever want to press her lips to hers, as their eyes remained fixated on each other -but instead of being caught in a memory or a dream, this was reality.

“To answer your question,” Jane whispered, resting her forehead on Julia’s, “of course I trust you.’

The reality was, as Jane sweetly brought Julia to the side of the rink and helped take off her skates, that that awful man...had to fucking go.

-

Quentin had been keeping the fireplace in the apartment lit since the first snow. Well, Eliot helped a lot, made sure Quentin didn’t burn the building down. Once when his boyfriend took a quick shower Eliot got frustrated with the snowy wood and cast the whole damn logs on fire.

His powers usually scared him, but it felt pretty good to get it precise for once. 

Especially when the rather ferocious flame impressed Quentin, ignorant of the magic in Eliot’s fingertips.

“Oh, yes, good, the fire is still going,” Quentin observed cheerily when they walked into the apartment, melting into Eliot’s embrace as he took Quentin by the waist and kissed his neck tenderly.

He was more than ready to give himself to Eliot, who, when he said that he wanted Quentin alone earlier in the day, excited Quentin beyond belief and made him even a little impatient to get back. They hadn’t had a lot of sexual content since they reconciled, but Quentin should have known they couldn’t resist taking each other’s clothes off for long.

He kicked the door back as he pulled Eliot to his mouth greedily. Eliot was sometimes surprised by how forward Quentin would be, and it made him grin through the kiss. But he gently caught Quentin’s hand as it guided Eliot’s fingers down his own chest to his fly.

Eliot regarded Quentin with awe and utter reverence, smiling from ear to ear.

“Oh-oh, t-that is not what you, uh, wanted,” Quentin said shyly, but Eliot kissed him on the forehead to reassure his boyfriend he did nothing wrong.

“When I said I wanted you alone tonight, I meant--well of course this.” Eliot blushed deeply, and it embarrassed him. But Quentin found it sweet, stroking Eliot’s warm cheek. “But there’s something else.”

“Okay, so like there’s something I got you okay,” Eliot’s words tumbled nervously together, “and if you don’t like it that’s okay, like completely okay I promise.”

Quentin’s eyes shone, and before he could say anything Eliot disappeared to their-- _ Quentin’s  _ bedroom and walked out as smoothly as possible with his hands behind his back. He was elegant in his movements, and only the crimson that colored his cheeks betrayed his vulnerability.

“Wait!” Quentin protested cherrily, “me first!” He had almost forgotten. Well, was willing to ‘forget’ until him and Eliot were pressed up against each other.

Eliot made a funny face when Quentin produced a merrily packaged box from underneath the couch. He had seen it earlier, but hadn’t guessed (his gift was far better,  _ magically _ hidden). Still, it was very Quentin to try to hide something in plain sight.

“My hands are all full, though,” Eliot whispered smilingly, “and all I want is for them to be full of you.”

“If you don't open it I’ll be very, very, very, very sad!” Quentin teased, indicating the coffee table for Eliot to place down whatever was behind his back for now.

“I’d never want to make you sad,” Eliot responded, “so I guess I don’t have a 

choice.”

Of course, Quentin’s eye closely followed the present Eliot delicately set down. It was decorated with Eliot’s characteristic simple elegance, wrapped in a glossy black box tied with pretty black ribbons and topped with a beautiful fresh eucalyptus.

Quentin tripped forward and in nervousness near shoved Eliot’s gift in his arms. His blush was fervent and eyes remained lowered. Yeah, Julia had assured him it was a good gift, but could Quentin ever been certain anything would impress Eliot Waugh?

Eliot just smiled so much that it hurt, carefully opening the gift wrapping off to reveal a pretty pink gift box.

“Thank you I love it!” Eliot teased.

Quentin’s  eyes went wide and he looked up, but he caught on easy and laughed. “You know it isn’t.”

Eliot leaned in and kissed his boyfriend on the forehead lovingly. He had never actually got a Christmas present before, in all his life, and he never knew how it felt until this moment. And it was from Quentin fucking Coldwater.

His deft hands softly opened the box and out he gently pulled an incredibly striking vest. It had a deep plum purple on the outside, but was lined with a glittery peach color. Eliot bit his bottom lip, and willed himself not to look away as he filled with so much emotion he was sure he was going to explode.

Eliot looked up with tears sparkling in his eyes, but with the happiest of smiles. “Thank--thank you so much, Q. It’s just perfect, like you.”

Quentin smiled and nodded and watched breathlessly as Eliot took off his current vest, and with ease slipped on his new one. Quentin stepped forward and helped Eliot to button it up--well, try to help. Quentin’s fingers were so imprecise and shaky, not that it mattered to Eliot. He drank in every touch of Quentin’s.

“I wonder how long this one will stay one,” Quentin whispered coquettishly, kissing Eliot’s chin. Their height difference was crazy, and Quentin had a smaller frame than Eliot, but it just served to illustrate how they fit so well in spite of superficial differences.

Eliot wrapped his arms around Quentin’s hips and kissed him fully on the mouth. “I mean...I don’t necessarily need to take it off. Just everything else.” He winked and chased Quentin’s lips again with ardor. “Thank you, thank you so much, my Q.”

Quentin sighed into the kiss. “You’re welcome, my El.”

But Eliot hadn’t forgotten. “Now--” he said, the crimson that colored his cheeks regaining its vibrance. He effortlessly took to the sleek black gift box in his hand, as if it were light as a feather despite actually being quite heavy, which Quentin learned when he gently attempted to rest it from Eliot’s arms.

“Jesus, El,” he laughed, pulling rather excitedly at the ribbons. “Did you get me a whole world in one box?” He tore at the black gift wrapping as he exclaimed about how pretty the eucalyptus was, removing it gently and pressing it into the pocket over his heart. “And yes, this is so pretty, El, but oh my Lord I don't have the finger strength for this. This is--”

Quentin fell completely silent, and his eyes grew wide with a wonderment that made his heart thunder beneath his chest. He ran his fingers over the gift’s green, somewhat faded cover, tracing lines on the beautiful cover art of a glistening clock in the center of a copse of trees. At the top of the book, he mouthed as he read “Fillory and Further. Book One.”

He couldn’t even explain the feelings that swept through him in that moment, it was all so fast and raw. When he looked up at Eliot, his eyes searched for an answer.  _ Why. _

Eliot freed one of his hands, and caressed Quentin’s cheek. “It is, you know. The first editions of the books. I’ve been reading them and...I see why you love them so much, Q. I wanted to get you something special so I pulled some magic and here we are.” He desperately wanted to hear Quentin speak, to know if he had overstepped or not, if Quentin even liked it, but Quentin remained speechless. 

Only the pool of tears in his boyfriend’s eyes followed by a pure, unaffected smile breaking out, dimpling his features so adorably, gave Eliot the reply he wanted so badly.

Quentin grabbed at the peach lining at the vee of Eliot’s vest and pulled him down, catching his lips between his. The deep kiss spoke of appreciation and tenderness, but it was also wholly ardent in its nature. He pressed the book to his chest as he threaded his fingers in Eliot’s curls, kissing his boyfriend’s mouth with profound desperation.

Quentin gently pulled back and took the box into his arms without struggle, it was now as weightless as an autumn day leaf. He slipped the beautiful first edition of book one back in its place, and looked up at Eliot with that familiar beloved look to his gaze, more intense than it had ever been.

He still couldn’t muster any words, but his eyes asked Eliot if it was okay to put down his incredibly meaningful gift, and Eliot nodded smilingly. Quentin gently did so, making sure it was placed perfectly and carefully.

Then he fell into Eliot’s arms.

Eliot gently lowered Quentin to the ground by the fireplace, grabbing the satin throw blanket off the couch and hurriedly put it underneath Quentin for his boyfriend’s comfort. They tore at each other’s clothes (Eliot laying his new vest very delicately to the side), and laid bare and desperate and kissing on the floor before the crackling flames of the fire.

Quentin gently pressed Eliot off him, and then turned him on his back, so Quentin himself was the who was on top. It greatly surprised Eliot but it was far from unpleasant, when Quentin’s ceaseless tongue dragged across his chin, down his neck, and further.

And oh, Quentin thought, how beautiful Eliot’s engorged cock was being framed by perfectly trimmed black pubes. He measured its size carefully and was absolutely certain he wanted his mouth on it. His nervousness that he couldn’t please Eliot was there, he’d never gone down on anyone before, but _ it was Eliot _ , who cherished him so deeply that he couldn’t imagine him being disappointed.

“Q…” Eliot whispers lightly, rubbing his thumb under Quentin’s chin, “you don’t have to.”

Quentin made a silly face, mouth watering, and nodded his head as to say y _ es, I want to, so badly! I’ve wanted to for so long but I was scared! Now I am not, and I want you so, so desperately. _

And Eliot? He had wanted it too.

Quentin lowered himself gently, as Eliot spread his legs to give his determined boyfriend more room. Quentin tenderly took Eliot’s tip to his mouth, and it was  _ magnificent. _

Eliot’s legs shook as he watched Quentin lick teasingly up and down his cock. The peach glow of the fire cast perfectly across Quentin’s features. Eliot knew there was no man more beautiful than Quentin in this world, or any other.

The warring emotions on Eliot’s face, of the deepest devotion to the one he cared for more than anything, and of his fear that he didn’t deserve Quentin, that he would ruin his purity. It flitted across his face as he allowed himself to moan loudly, running his fingers through Quentin’s fringe.

“Oh, Q,” Eliot sighed helplessly. Quentin couldn’t really take all of Eliot in his mouth, and it kind of amused Eliot when he tried to. But those big brown eyes looking up at him so appreciatively and charmingly? Fuck, Quentin was  _ arrestingly  _ beautiful.

The gutteral sound Eliot made as he was coming close to orgasming made Quentin moan around Eliot’s dick. Eliot tasted so fucking good, and Quentin lapped it up with every essence of his being.

Eliot had been sucked off so many times by so many guys, faceless and gray in his memory, and while Quentin was completely unpracticed and a little sloppy and very doe-eyed, it was somehow the best blowjob, by and far, Eliot had ever received. 

It was just so much more than a sexual act, but something so deeply intimate and loving….

Oh, God, how Eliot loved Quentin.

He thought desperately, _ It is Quentin, it was always supposed to be Quentin,  _ as he let himself come inside Quentin’s mouth, warm and gentle and so incredibly intense he felt it throughout his whole body.

All his body wanted was Quentin, who, when he crawled up Eliot’s body to kiss him, Eliot pulled in the warmest embrace, pressing his lips to his with a passion that burned like fire roaring next to their sweating, heaving bodies.

“Q…” Eliot sobbed quietly, brushing his boyfriend’s hair out his eyes. And it was there, on his tongue,  _ those three words, _ and yet…

“Thank you,” Quentin cried under his breath. “Thank you, thank you.”

“For what?” Eliot asked, his button lip shaking. “The books?”

“No,” Quentin replied, “I mean yes!” He laughed a little. “Because you. Thank you, for you, Eliot.”

Eliot smiled with the greatest devotion reflected in his hues, and lovingly brushed Quentin’s cheek. “Well, here I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos make my life <3


	11. my gift is my song and this one's for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well 3 weeks by a margin LOL. I hope you guys enjoy this one. <3
> 
> I'd also like to share a treat with you guys: art made for my fic by parrallelbeetle, an incredible talent the highest:
> 
> For chapter 5
> 
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>  
> 
> and chapter 6
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> 
> PLEASE check out her blog on tumblr under username parallelbeatle and instagram account under username lydiaekimar! She does commissions and is a magicifent joy in general. <333333333

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I've always loved you, and when you love someone, you love the whole person, just as he or she is, and not as you would like them to be.”  
> ― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

“Your lips move when you read,” Eliot observed smilingly as he intently watched Quentin read closely the text that was shaking in his hands.

Color tinged Quentin’s cheeks, and a smile began to quirk his lips. “Don’t make me blush! I’m so angry right now. I hate this fucking class already. _Oh my God.”_ He looked up at Eliot with a pout. “I wish it was spring break already, winter break was far too short.”

Eliot’s hand reached across the table and gently took Quentin’s fingers between his own, as they sat in Columbia’s vast Butler Library. Winter break had been simply _delightful._ It was three weeks of him and Quentin, often paired with Julia and her now girlfriend Jane, checking out everything in the city that none of them had ever seen. Quentin had been partial to strange historical sights, like Fort Clinton and the ruins of the Roosevelt Island Smallpox Hospital (They had an interesting picnic there). Eliot wanted to see The Museum at the Fashion Institute and the delectable Museum of Food and Drink. Jane copped them tickets to _The Phantom of the Opera_ and invited them to the National Jazz Museum in Harlem, while her new girl Julia asked if they’d all like to check out the Museum of Women’s Resistance and to explore the majestic and tree dense Prospect Park in Brooklyn.

It was as nearly perfect as anything could be, where they could just be teenagers together and romantic and have fun. If Eliot could reverse the sun and make it the first day of winter break again, he would simply just to make Quentin happy. (He briefly did wonder if there was a spell for that.)

“You’re doing great, though,” Eliot comforted, scooching his seat next to Quentin’s to put his arm lovingly around him. Quentin looked up and smiled shakily at Eliot. “You always do, even with _absurd_ bullshit like this class.”

It had only been a few weeks into the new semester, with February dawning upon them, and Quentin was having it particularly hard.

“I hate the Core Curriculum!” he snapped under his breath, near tears. “It is so ridiculous I have to take all of this nonsense as a _literature major_. ‘FroSci’ is dumb as shit.”

Eliot was perplexed by Columbia’s nutty courses that their students were forced to take. Yes, City College _did_ have lower division requirements outside the major, but Columbia’s was something else. “FroSci” stood for a bloody four unit course which was like a _mega_ , kraken-sized science class to explore the oh so wondrous “frontiers of science.”

It made Quentin gag. Not that he was anti-science or anything, _far_ from it, but not only wasn’t it his specialty, there was simply - and necessarily - nothing magical in it. But did everything had to be explained by rationality and natural law? The crap about the mind and the brain was particularly difficult for him to sit through, but all around this fucking _four scientific topics_ course was outsized in its scope and consequently trying for an already prone to be stressed Quentin.

“This is taking up my life and I only want to spend it with you,” Quentin said quietly.

Eliot kissed Quentin’s brow tenderly, his boyfriend sighing on his shoulder. He dropped his pen and shook out his hand with force. _And that?_ That Eliot loved about Quentin. The way he’d shake his hand out after writing for a longtime, the way he’d sit awkwardly, the way he’d hold his pen. And that way he would sometimes hold books? With his hands under them gripping the top? God, Eliot couldn’t get enough of it. Quentin was a messy boy, and though it could lowkey frustrate Eliot when Quentin would leave things about his dorm room, he’d never have his Q any other way. But Gods, that way Quentin would get excited about things he's passionate about and explain things and be useful? The way he stammered when his mouth couldn’t keep up with his brain? _Perfect._ He loved Quentin’s whole self, and never wanted to let it go.

It is then he almost says it. Eliot breathed out, then takes in the scent of Quentin’s hair, kissing the top of his head tenderly. He pulls him in close protectively. It is on the edge of his tongue - _I love you_ \- ready to dart out and then…

_Quentin is too stressed by this dumb class. Me telling him I’m desperately in love with him will only make it that much worse._

And then the moment is lost.

“Instead of Fros-ci,” Quentin began blushingly, cupping Eliot’s cheek, “how about we go get some fro-yo instead?”

And that humor, how could he not love it? And yet.

“Yeah, of course,” Eliot replied softly, pressing his lips to Quentin’s. “But you know that I’m paying, Q.”

-

All the museums and parks and sites Eliot, Quentin, Julia, and Jane included another incredibly important place: the Stonewall Monument. It was a small park located across the street from the famous Stonewall Inn, and Jane insisted that they go.

The four of them quietly walked through the quiant grove of the Gay Liberation monument, Jane telling them about Marsha P. Johnson, a black transgender activist and her massive contirbutions to the Stonewall Uprisings.

“She asked us,” Jane began, “‘How many people have died for these two little statues to be put in the park to recognize gay people?’”

That hit Eliot harder than he thought it would. He knew he was gay since forever, but it wasn’t something you spoke about at all where he grew up. And now here he was, holding hands with Quentin, in that celebrated park, and suddenly felt the terror he had so attempted not to feel when thinking about how Quentin and himself were targeted people.

Even in _New fucking York_ same-sex marriage wasn’t even legal. If someone hurt Quentin, he couldn’t, in any state, even donate blood to him. And of course, they were only teenagers, and Eliot didn’t see marriage as an imminent thing...but knowing that he couldn’t, to his precious Q, one day.

That _crushed_ him.

He thought of it as Quentin fretted over finding a new roommate since James finally picked up the last of his crap and left.

“A-am not sure w-what even to, like do!” Quentin mumbled, pacing as he spoke.

Quentin was more than happy James was gone. He had come to the full realization of what an awful person he was, and was not sorry to him go. But now he had to replace him, and rent could run high for just him alone.

“What about that Trod guy? I think that was his name,” Julia said mockingly as she hugged a throw pillow, “He seemed so not useless and boring and fake at all.”

“Urgh, that fucking guy?” Eliot hissed. “He was the worst of them all.” Eliot was leaning against Julia and played with her sparkling pretty hair as Quentin was talking to himself. It was always cute and amusing when he did so.

“Why can’t it be Jane!” Quentin cried, plopping down next to Eliot and joining him in touching Julia’s luscious locks. “I couldn’t have done better.”

“She got housing at the last minute,” Julia reminded him, “but you’re right, you couldn’t do better.” She winked at Eliot and they both laughed.

They had become such close friends in these last months, and helped each other and Eliot loved her too. He’d said it of course, as one does far more easily with their friends, and she to him. They shared somebody they utterly adored but carried their own deep bond as well.

She couldn’t help but credit Eliot with helping her see James for what he was. After the wondrous ice skating with Jane, Julia went to James and threw him completely and happily over. She was afraid, but she knew she wasn’t alone. She had Eliot and Quentin there with her.

And then there was Jane.

Jane who made her feel so much sparks of fire in her heart, who appreciated Julia, kissed and adored her--which Julia readily bestowed on Jane in return. It was New Year's Day when they began their thing when they fell into bed together after Eliot’s cozy New Years Eve party at Quentin’s. (James had already vacated the premises. So it was a celebration of that too, as well as New Years). After they had visited Stonewall, a little over a week before the spring semester commenced, Jane asked Julia to be her girlfriend. God, Julia ravished her with kisses, happy tears swelling her beautiful brown eyes. It was an incredible and unearthly feelings to cherish someone and to be cherished back.

“We’re just joking, Q,” Julia assured her grumpy best friend, who frowned at her jest to Eliot.

She patted Quentin on the head, then made to get up. “Speaking of Jane, though, we’re going to a concert in the park. Well, she is singing it. And I got a front row ticket! Be jealous, bitches.”

Quentin groaned, but smiled when Julia gave him a maternal kiss on the forehead. Eliot she embraced with a smooch to the cheek and let him dance her to the door to say goodbye.

“What are you doooooooing?” Eliot asked as he moved toward the couch, which Quentin had sprawled his lithe body all over.

“I figured that you’d just sit on me,” Quentin teased, taking Eliot’s hands and clumsily pulling him on top.

“Bad boy,” Eliot chided jestingly, peppering Quentin’s throat with kisses, feeling his boyfriend purr underneath. 

Quentin reached down and pulled Eliot’s mouth to his greedily. “I wish….” he began, but stopped himself.

_I wish it was you who was moving in._

His eyes looked up sad and sorry at Eliot. He wanted him with him here permanently, but Eliot already had a place of his own (student housing costs were a big bitch and nonrefundable), and he didn’t want to hear Eliot say “no” for whatever reason. Quentin would melt into a puddle on the floor.  
But Eliot thought he understood. He stroked Quentin’s cheek reverently, and nodded his head. And then his mouth opened, but nothing came out.

_Quentin is fucking stressed about the God damned roomate shit. If I tell him I love him…_

Quentin raised a curious eyebrow, which Eliot quickly leaned down and kissed. “I won't let any idiot live with you, honey, I swear,” Eliot promised. “I’m here to take care of you, now and always.”

And fuck, wasn’t it true? Eliot felt he was here to protect Quentin, to treasure and care for in all his beauty and hardships.

Quentin sighed, pressing his lips lovingly to Eliot’s. For now, that was all he needed to hear.

-

And he needed Eliot more than ever.

January had just slipped into February, and Quentin sat with a piece of paper in his hand, shaking more violently than the trains rumbling through Grand Central Station. The paper was already tear stained, melting away the hasty, almost angry red writing of his science professor that spelled out the grade “59 - F.”

Eliot, who now had a key of his own, walked in smiling, despite coming from that God awful “Historiography of Art History” (he could give a fuck what some old dead white men thought of ancient art that was clearly homoerotic but was dismissed as such) he had been putting off for three semesters.

But his smile faltered when he didn’t see Quentin lounging in the living room like usual, with either his pretty little head bent over and diligently studying, or with his face in a pillow avoiding studying all together. 

“Q?” Eliot called out, setting his keys on the coffee table. “Quentin?” he repeated with alarm. And when Quentin still didn’t answer, Eliot began to panic - had he been hurt? Or hurt himself? - and ran to Q’s bedroom door, opening it without knocking.

“Q?” Eliot cried out when he saw his boyfriend sitting facing away from him on his bed. Eliot hadn’t realized he forgot to take a breath since he opened the door to the apartment.  
With a huge gulp of air, Eliot crawled across the mattress and wrapped his arms lovingly around his boyfriend, kissing Quentin’s neck tenderly, soothingly. 

_Fuck, I love him so much, oh my God._

“What’s wrong, Q?” Eliot asked with heartfelt compassion. The amber of his hues were alight with adoration, even in these difficult quests. He moved to cup Quentin’s cheek, only to feel wetness from tears before Quentin slightly jerked away in embarrassment. He choked back a sob that Eliot felt deeply.

Their relationship… The way Quentin would bear his emotions so openly, even in fear it would scare off Eliot, was something so special. He allowed Eliot to know his pain and sadness, and Eliot didn’t think him “whiney” or a “cry baby” like ignorant idiots had called Quentin In turn, Eliot allowed himself to do likewise--it was previously unfamiliar to him, to be so expressive, bottled up, but Quentin, he felt no need to be so. That was the thing about them: they both carried deep trauma and sorrow, but they found unbridled happiness and joy in other another that was miraculous and sublime and boundless.

“I was so worried about you,” Eliot admitted freely, tears sparkling his own eyes, kissing Quentin’s shoulder sweetly. The Fillory books Eliot had gifted to Quentin sat stacked on Quentin’s side table, piled a little awkwardly. Which was so ridiculously Quentin.

Eliot desperately wished he could see his Q’s face and kiss his lips and all those tears away, but clearly Quentin needed a moment.

“I’ll just sit with you then, if you’d like,” Eliot whispered in Quentin’s ear, with such understanding in his voice. He felt the faintest nod of approval to do so.

They stayed like that for a while, Eliot cradling Quentin in his arms fondly, living as one as Eliot hummed quietly in Q’s neck. The vibrations from it Quentin found immeasurably comforting. He recognized it too—”Your Song” by Elton John. Eliot was a huge fan and got Quentin into Elton, Freddie, and Bowie, well kept posters of each hanging on Eliot’s walls.

Finally, Quentin turned around and while he couldn’t quite smile, there was something intoxicating as always to his pretty mouth. He pressed his lips to Eliot’s with longing, and together, they laid back on the bed.

“S-Sing me to s-sleep?” Quentin asked quietly.

Eliot held Quentin reverently in his arms, as if holding magnificent treasure, and smiled, kissing his Q’s forehead. He began so:  
  


_It's a little bit funny this feeling inside_   
_I'm not one of those who can easily hide_   
  


Quentin closed his eyes and listened. Eliot’s touch and voice was his greatest nourishment.  
And Eliot…the next lyrics, he felt it terribly, as he softly sung out:  
  
  
 _I Don't have much money but boy if I did  
_ _I'd buy a big house where we both could live_

 

If he could take Quentin, and run off to Fillory, and build him a castle for them to live in forever and be away from all the hurt of the real world, he would without hesitation. The melodic tones of his voice almost cracked when he sang:

 

 _If I was a sculptor, but then again no_  
 _Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show_  
 _Oh I know it's not much but it's the best I can do_  
 _My gift is my song  
_ _And this one's for you_

 

Because, oh Gods, it was true - the song was not only for Quentin, but it was as if it was written for them.

  
  
_And you can tell everybody this is your song_   
_It may be quite simple but now that it's done…_   
_I hope you don't mind_   
_I hope you don't mind_   
_That I put down in words…_   
  


A sleepy, barely perceptible smile curled Quentin’s lips. (Of course, Eliot saw it) Quentin began to fall into sleep, as Eliot sang to Quentin most ardently and with his greatest honesty:  
  


**_“How wonderful life is while you're in the world.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE kudos & especially comments always keep me going / so so inspired / motivated <3 thank you <33333
> 
> When writing this chapter it was the "Rocketman" movie version by Taron Egerton of "Your Song" that i listened to / kept hearing el sing / also inspired me <3 [Here ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmPnzjp89Hs) :)


	12. come let me love you, let me give my life to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come let me love you, let me give my life to you  
> Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms  
> Let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you  
> Come let me love you, come love me again.”
> 
> “Annie’s Song”, John Denver

It began when they were sleeping one school night, Quentin clinging desperately to Eliot, to make sure he was real and solid as he broke out in a nervous sweat. When Quentin twisted and tangled in the sheets it made Eliot wake up with great concern, running his fingers through Quentin’s damp hair, kissing his temple and soothing him back into sleep.

It had been like this for weeks now, and Quentin became more and more dejected everyday. The stress was killing him and he didn’t know how to cope. Eliot tried all he could to rouse Quentin from his stupor but his boyfriend only grew darker in his soul.

“Jesus, no, fuck!” Quentin cried in his sleep, Eliot waking up sharply.

“Q. Q!” he trembled, as tears streaked Quentin’s face but he was still half asleep. He shook violently and kept crying out, though everything he said now was unintelligible.

Eliot felt his forehead, Quentin’s skin feeling hot as a fever. He was in the throes of a horrible nightmare and Eliot wasn’t sure what to do but try to rouse him from sleep.

“Q, wake up, please,” he said, gently nudging Quentin on the shoulder repeatedly until he opened his eyes with a horribly sharp take of breath.

“Eliot,” he wept, skin burning red with embarrassment. “I’m s-sorry…”

Eliot took Quentin into his arms and peppered reassuring kisses to his tear streaked face. “Please don’t apologize, baby. It’s not your fault at all. I’m here for you, always.”

He leaned over Quentin and fetched the open water bottle that his Q had left on the side table. He’d usually joke about his boyfriend being so messy, but the humor would be completely lost in such a horrible moment as this. 

Putting the tepid water bottle to Quentin’s trembling lips, Eliot pressed his forehead to his boyfriend’s and told him everything would be okay, that he’d never leave him, that “You’re my whole world, Quentin.”

Quentin’s breath began to slow as he drank gratefully, letting his body unwind against Eliot’s. He finally looked up with Eliot with the most melancholic eyes and whispered, “I can’t go to that class tomorrow, I’d rather kill myself, Eliot. I can’t anymore. I can’t, I can’t!”

“You don’t have to go, Q,” he told him with grave alarm, clutching him close. Then he added with a burst of tears, “Please don’t leave me, I need you. I can’t live without you. You’re everything, you deserve everything.”

He couldn’t bear it when Quentin even hinted at something about suicide, and Eliot sensed it was his duty to keep Quentin alive, to take care of him, and make him feel deeply, purely loved as he was by Eliot. 

And yet Eliot still hadn’t told Quentin he loved him.

His palms pressed to Quentin’s cheeks, rubbing away his tears with his thumbs. “You haven’t missed class yet, and in the morning you can just email your professor or whatever and let them know you’re sick.”

_ Sick _ is what Quentin referred to as his depression. It became a sort of code between him and Eliot when Quentin felt severely down. And although Eliot was also “sick”, he never knew how to verbalize it - though Quentin recognized it.

Quentin nodded his head and stroked Eliot’s furrowed forehead. “It’s okay, Eliot, I’m okay. We’re okay. Don’t be sad.”

Quentin always hated it when people told him “Don’t be sad.” It always came off as incredibly dismissive and hurtful, but when him and Eliot said it to one another it was more a gentle reminder they had each other in all the pain.

Eliot bit his lip, and searched Quentin’s eyes for that life force in him that kept Eliot going. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll make us breakfast, okay? I’ll skip my class too. Gods know it is my M.O. after all. And no, I won’t take protestations about me skipping stupid ‘Baroque Imperial Spain.’”

Quentin smiled weakly, and kissed Eliot tenderly on the mouth. Perhaps in the morning, everything might feel a little better than before.

-

“Jesus fuck, Eliot, you’re so extra.” But it only made Quentin smile. “This isn’t breakfast, this is some next l-level shit.”

The intoxicating smell of melted chocolate and fresh fruit and cake mixture swirled in the air of Quentin’s apartment, a pleasurable delight to the senses that was antithetical to the horrible, unpleasant weather beating against the frozen windows.

Eliot, smirking, waved Quentin to sit down at the table and with a snap of his fingers served Quentin what was more definitely a desert and not breakfast, but his boyfriend was salivating (not least because Eliot looked hot as hell with his sleeves rolled up). It was a deliciously smelling circle chocolate cake padded thickly with mousse, topped with glistening blueberries and strawberries and raspberries.  Gourmet melted chocolate and shreds of  _ Chocolat des Français _ topped off the whole fantastic thing.

And there was some cause to celebrate in form of stress alleviation: as it turned out, since  _ both _ Quentin and James signed the lease, James had to pay out for the apartment through June. Not that it would put even a dent in his rich parents’ wallet, but it was a great relief to Quentin and Eliot.

“I won’t take a bite of it until you sit down,” Quentin teased, shuffling his favorite cards between his fingers. It was a curious anxiety toy of sorts, and it humbled Eliot. Eliot contemplated so many hours on the fact he thought magic had ruined his life, but Quentin loved and believed in it so intensely even though he didn’t know it actually existed. It touched Eliot on a preternatural level.

Eliot smiled and wrapped his fingers gently around the back of Quentin’s neck, leaning down to kiss him deeply, their lips parting in a loud smack. He pulled his seat right next to Quentin’s, wrapping his hand around his boyfriend’s wrist.

“How am I supposed to eat with your hand on my wrist?” Quentin mocked, fluttering his long lashes at a blushing Eliot. Those pretty eyelashes could murder Eliot and he wouldn’t mind in the least bit.

“Too bad you’re not left handed, like me,” Eliot pointed out, flicking a raspberry from his desert in his mouth and pressing lips to Quentin’s, who took the fruit easily between his teeth.

-

The whole morning was spent like that, with the faces of both men ending up  chocolate smeared with ruddy lips from feeding one another with their mouths.

Eliot of course insisted they clean up, but that only resulted in endless smooches with every movement of Eliot’s hand trying to wipe off the chocolate on Quentin’s face.

“I should check my email,” Quentin mumbled, sitting comfortably in Eliot’s arms on the couch, idling by the fire with lazy kisses.

Eliot opened his mouth to tell Quentin to wait but quick as he was, Quentin had his phone out and email app open before Eliot could utter a sound.

He felt Quentin nod in his arms, as if approving of what he was reading. “M-my professor said it’s fine,” Quentin reported coolly, “hopes I get better and tell me to keep on top of things.”

It first sounded nice and formal to Quentin. But as he continued to lay down with Eliot, and moments passed, the tone of the email changed in his head. At once, it was mocking. In the next, a warning. By the time his brain was all fired up, the email came off to Quentin in his head as a total rebuke of the most malicious nature.

Quentin sat up shakily, running both hands down his face, and the overwhelming sense of dread whirled at the highest speed inside him. Succumbing to dizziness, he still attempted to stand up and he wasn’t sure why. He just felt he had to go  _ somewhere. _

“Quentin?” Eliot prompted, touching his boyfriend’s shoulder as he stumbled trying to get up. “Quentin!”

Eliot caught his boyfriend between his arms and settled him on the floor. The  pins and needles were painfully sharp in Quentin as blood pounded in his ears and his vision began to greyout.

“Okay, baby, okay, okay,” Eliot said as calmly as he possibly could, although he hadn’t a clue what to do and that scared him. He sat criss cross and laid Quentin down so his head rested comfortably in Eliot’s lap. It’s all he could think of to do.

Quentin was shaking between his grip and his eyes were terrified. “I-I can’t breathe…”

Eliot put on a composed face, despite wanting to scream for help. He kissed his own fingers and pressed them to Quentin’s forehead. “You can do this, baby. Just breathe with me. You will get through this. Here.”

He gently took Quentin’s hands and placed one across his chest and the other on his stomach.

“So you can feel yourself inhale and exhale,” Eliot explained. It's what Eliot did when he was coming down from a bad high and though he was dying. And from what he’d heard, panic attacks felt like you were absolutely dying.

“You’ll get through this, baby,” Eliot said, as him and Quentin took measured breaths together. “I know you’re scared but you’re going to be okay, but I have you and never, ever would let anything bad happen to you.”

They breathed together for what seemed like forever, but when he saw Quentin’s hyperventilating begin to slowly subside, Eliot smiled sadly, running his fingers tenderly through Quentin’s fringe. “I am proud of you, Q. You’re the bravest person that I know.”

And if Quentin had been able to speak in that moment, he would have said what he was thinking: _ I’m brave because of you. _

-

“This is dumb,” Quentin mumbled, pink with embarrassment as he sat uncomfortably in a too short, too tight patient gown. His hand was wound solid around Eliot’s wrist as he rested his head softly on Eliot’s arm, rubbing his cheek against it to make sure Eliot was still present.

“You don’t look dumb in that gown thing,” Eliot replied playfully, running his hand down Quentin’s back to the hem, “though it’s too small, even for you.”

Quentin moved to boop Eliot on the nose but the university nurse came in with barely a knock.

“Quentin Coldwater?” she asked with reservation when she saw Eliot. “And you are?”

“Oh, it doesn’t say on the chart?” Eliot asked, meaning to come off as charming but only sounding kind of like an asshole. Quentin pinched him. “I’m Eliot, the boyfriend,” he added.

“Okay, Eliot….” she began, “could you please step out for a minute so I can ask Quentin some questions? You can come back right after.”

He looked down at Quentin, who shook his head at him with a smirk. “Alright.” He licked his thumb and rubbed his boyfriend’s chin and stepped outside.

It didn’t feel right standing outside in the painfully icy hallway, and not being able to hear or really see Quentin, considering he was blocked by the nurse. But Quentin kept sneakily looking above her shoulder to wink at Eliot.

“No, he hasn’t hurt me,” Quentin replied to her question, “why would you ask that?”

“I only ask to be safe,” she reminded him gently, trying to block his view of Eliot. “And the scratch on your face….”

“Is from when I-I hit the f-floor from my panic attack, not with a-a fist!”

Now Quentin’s face took that pale pink that would cast across his features  when anxiety struck. It felt the strangest question to ask if Eliot had hit him, since no nurse or doctor or anybody ever asked him if his mom had. And she’d certainly slapped Quentin around.

“M-My mom did and no one ever thought to ask me if I was okay,” Quentin hissed, 

“In fact, she’d do it in public sometimes, if I was ‘whining’ or crying ‘too much’ and no one did anything about it.”

The nurse’s eyes grew emphatic. “I’m so sorry….”

“I wanna go,” Quentin sniffed, waving her off. He had already been smacked around and though his mother was gone, no one had ever done anything about it and the nurse certainly couldn’t turn back time to see what other people looked away from.

She nodded her head and set to work on the scratch.

When he looked up, he caught Eliot stepping forward and pressing his hand lovingly to the glass that separated them.

And Quentin’s smile couldn’t help but reach his eyes.

-

Quentin decided to tell Eliot what the nurse had asked him when they got back to his apartment.

While it took Eliot aback, he assured Quentin that it is what she was supposed to ask. “Everything is okay, Q,” he said quietly, the two on the edge of Quentin’s bed holding hands.

Quentin was working himself up into being upset again and Eliot was having a hard time staving it off.

“It f-felt like we were being threatened,” he sobbed into Eliot’s shoulder blade.

“Oh, Q,” Eliot replied softly, embracing him with a kiss on the forehead. Now the only thing Eliot can think is to take him to get a shower. "Come on," he stood up and gently guided Quentin to the bathroom. "Let's get you in here.”

Eliot helped him out of his clothes and starts pulling his own off. "It'll be okay, Q." He turns the shower on and he gets in with him. "I’m here baby. I'll wash your hair."

Quentin sniffed and nodded lightly, letting Eliot envelop him in his arms. They somehow ended up sitting on the shower floor.

"It's okay. Close your eyes." He helped him wash his hair, scrubbing his scalp trying to relax him. He started humming tenderly  _ Annie’s Song  _ by John Denver. (Quentin had likewise got Eliot into his own music, that pretty folk-rock stuff). 

The cool tones of Eliot’s voice never failed to move Quentin and make him happier. He turned his head and kissed Eliot.

“Are we feeling better?” Eliot asked, kissing Quentin back as he ran his fingers tenderly through his boyfriend’s hair. “There, I think all the soap is out.” He smiled, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to Quentin’s pulse point on his neck.

Quentin was still tearing up, but it was being washed away by the water - and Eliot’s kindness. When he caught Eliot by the mouth and pressed him in closer, he searched for purchase in spite of wet, slippery skin.

Eliot reached his hand down between them, and took Quentin delicately in his fingers. The guttural sound Quentin made, a blend of a stifled sob and of pleasure, made Eliot sit back and watch Quentin’s face, pressing his lips to his forehead.

Quentin leaned back against the shower wall, and spread his legs wider, wanting more of Eliot between them. Eliot leaned in and kissed Quentin tenderly on the mouth as he gently stroked him.

Eliot’s movements were long and slow, Quentin thrusting into his hand languidly. It wasn’t necessarily for Eliot here to make Quentin orgasm so much as it was to  _ comfort  _ him, and Quentin allowed himself to be comforted, slow in pace but growing heavier in breath.

He caressed Quentin’s hair and cheek and kissed him and kissed him. His lips moved from Quentin’s mouth to his nipples and sucked on them delicately. By the way Quentin’s body was responding so beautifully, he began to pick up a little pace in his strokes, rubbing his thumb over Quentin’s slit before stroking the whole length of his cock.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Eliot told Quentin as he kissed his neck, “the most beautiful, Q.”

When Quentin’s mouth opened in a moan Eliot closed his lips over it, smooching him lovingly as a heaving Quentin came all inside of Eliot’s hand.

Quentin cupped Eliot’s face, eyes downcast, but thumbs ceaselessly tender. “Thank you so much Eliot….”

“Shhh,” he whispered, kissing Quentin on the nose. He didn’t think Quentin had anything to thank for; being treated humanely and with love should be given and both had been deprived of it in their lives.

Eliot opened his eyes wider. “On Saturday, how about we like do something? I know a place…”

“You always know a place,” Quentin teased, fingering Eliot’s lips.

“A very, very, very special place,” Eliot laughed, and brought in his lips to Quentin’s again. 

He knew what he needed to tell him: and while Eliot feared telling Quentin that he was in love with him, that Quentin might not say it back, plans were already being made in his head how to say it.

It wasn’t like Eliot to be so direct with his feelings, so he needed to  _ show _ it, as well as tell it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright are we ready for extraeness of the picnic chapter but even more Eliot fantabuloussness next chapter. (It's loosely based off the "Eliot" chapter in book one where him and Q go boating....just saying ;)). 
> 
> Thank you cyn for all of your help <3 and ash for the little bits we have written long ago <3
> 
> Kudos and comments keep me going <3


	13. being him is who you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Even in my dreams I never imagined that I should find so much love on earth. How that moment shines for me still when I was close to you, with your hand in mine.”  
> ― Prince Albert to Victoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have been on xmas break from school! :) But dedicated time not resting to this.<3 I love this fic so much and you readers!

“Summer class doesn’t sound so bad,” Eliot teased, kissing Quentin’s head, as his forehead rested on the cafe table. “Take something you like, like, I dunno, like Medieval Sci Fi Lit, or Urban Fantasy Romance or some fun shit.”

Quentin looked up and smiled. “Sometimes I feel we’re in an urban fantasy romance.”

“Hey, dont worry, I’ll be taking a summer class too,” Eliot soothed. “I could always court you in a Middle Ages AU, though,” he teased, stroking Quentin’s cheek, tucking an always loose strand of his hair behind his ear, “give you my favors.” He winked. “And more.”

Quentin blushed fervently.

Eliot was happy he wasn’t entirely useless, like he thought he was, in his nerdy conversation with Quentin. Class was good for something, he guessed. Even if he had to drop one this semester. 

Quentin took Eliot’s fingers between his. The smell of dark roast in their tiny coffee shop inflamed the senses. 

“And you can show me all the art you love, because I know nothing about that shit like you do.”

Though Eliot may not see it, Quentin knew his El was smart and clever and knowledgeable. It endeared his heart so much, and saddened him Eliot didn’t see it in himself. Maybe Quentin believing in him would be enough to help his boyfriend see the beauty that ran deep in Eliot’s soul, and consumed Quentin’s.

“I’m _hungry_ ,” Quentin complained, reaching over to Eliot with a pouty face. “I haven’t eaten all day. Just let me _eeeeeeeeat_.”

“I _caaaaaaaaaan’t_ ,” Eliot replied smartly, “well, maybe in a little.” He winked.

Quentin’s eyes widened, his heart soaring to its greatest height. He clasped Eliot’s hands in his. “Where are we goin, El? What new adventure is this?”

“It’s the first day of spring!” Eliot pointed out with a smirk. “We haven’t been able to picnic since, you know, October?”

He smiled when he remembered that first time, with Quentin pinned underneath his body on the green below Belvedere Castle. So delicate and light, soft as anyone could be. That seemed the most important moment in his whole life. Now, he was diving into the most perilous quest of all.

“I miss it so much,” Quentin whispered, eyes sparkling with those happy memories. Any ‘typical’ picnic or date or whatever with Eliot was far from ordinary. It was always very Eliot, very much for Quentin. 

Eliot kissed both of Quentin’s knuckles, then sat up swiftly, pulling up Quentin just as fast into his arms. He leaned him down dramatically and kissed him, both laughing through the kiss at those in the coffee shop who must be stunned.

Or would be if they weren’t there all the time, being overly affectionate menaces.

-

“This way,” Eliot said gently, as he pulled Quentin into the grassy bounds of Central Park, the enigmatic double towers of The Eldorado gracing the sky in all their beauty. 

That earthy fragrance after rain that marked early Spring filled Quentin with a sense of renewal, that the showers had washed away all the pain of his past and now he was hand in hand with his adored Eliot. The addictive scent of the damp Earth beneath their feet, whirling with winds carrying the flavor of newly mown grass and freshly cut flowers, epitomized Quentin’s wintry depression moving toward a promising hopefulness that flowed in his veins.

“What are we doing here?” Quentin asked smilingly, easily following Eliot’s lead.

Eliot grinned and kissed Quentin on the forehead. From his vest pocket he pulled out a silk handkerchief. “Remember this?”

Quentin closed his eyes as an answer, almost going to his toes to make it easier for Eliot to adjust the cloth over his eyes. 

But before Eliot veiled Quentin’s temple, he squeezed their fingers together and asked solemnly, “do you trust me?”

That made Quentin’s eyes open. He wanted Eliot to see the truth in his answer. “Of course I do, El. With my life and heart.” He purposely sounded like such a blushing maiden in some medieval fantasy love story, being deeply fawned over by the king of the realm.

It fit what Eliot had planned.

“I’m glad,” Eliot said quietly, gently placing the handkerchief over Quentin’s eyes, stepping behind him to tie the knot - but not without sinking his mouth in Quentin’s beautiful neck and almost fumbling the tie as he made his boyfriend sigh beneath his sensuous touch.

Quentin’s arousal at Eliot’s familiar hands, running down his back and sides and ass, his breath on his neck, nibbling and sucking, stirred hotly between his legs.

Quentin was now so past caring that they were intimate in public, that if Eliot took him right there, under the blooming pink foliage, he’d melt into it completely.

Eliot made his way around to Quentin's front - fingers slowly rubbing up and down Quentin’s quivering thighs, tonguing his pretty lips so mercilessly Quentin would have collapsed to his knees if Eliot wasn’t always there to catch him.

“Oh, honey,” Eliot purred, brushing his thumb over Quentin’s jaw, “I hope I didn’t make you so weak at the knees. We have some way to walk - though of course I’m not opposed to carrying you.”

Quentin caught his breath. It was a tempting idea. He chased Eliot’s lips before he said breathlessly, “I think… I can make it, with loving hands guiding the way.”

_Loving._

That made Eliot’s heart swell with hope.

He took Quentin’s hands and pressed them lovingly, pulling him gently forward, the same carefulness he coveted on the steps at the castle.

It was maybe a fifteen minute walk, but it was nothing less than Quentin trusting deeply in Eliot’s touch. He began to notice the sounds around him had strangely lowered to a murmur, only chirping and the slight wind and singing bugs remotely hearable. It was strangely romantic and mysterious.

Then they stopped, and Eliot came in close to Quentin, brushing his finger over his lips. Eliot wordlessly pressed his forehead to his Q’s, squeezing his hands with deep affection. He felt speechless, nervous and full of boundless love.

Pressing a full kiss to Quentin’s eager lips, he effortlessly, with careful hands, untied Quentin’s blindfold.

Quentin’s eyes opened to see a smooth grass walkway, glowing under the dimming sun - it was candles, ten on each side, glittery white candlesticks burning prettily that made the overhanging trees somehow glow magnificently rose pink, sapphire blue, and seafoam green. The unearthly light seemed to be pointing down the walkway, which, at its destination, gracing the dark waters of vast Central Park Lake, sat an elegantly carved rowboat, filled to the brim with white roses, baby's breath, heather, and myrtle. It was a floating fantasy garden, strangely illuminated and headily gorgeous.

Quentin put his hand over his mouth. “Oh, El.”

What else could he say? He was speechless.

Eliot closed the gap between them and took Quentin’s hands again, kissing each finger delicately. “Come.”

With an energetic eagerness, and brightest of eyes, a velvety brown that reflected the colors above, he let Eliot guide him down to the row boat. With great carefulness, Eliot pulled Quentin into the boat by the waist.

“Taking me on a quest on a magical boat?” Quentin teased, bracing his body against Eliot’s with worshipful touch.

Eliot kissed Quentin smilingly as he sat them both down cautiously on the row boat’s bottom, which was just big enough for the two of them.

“So it doesn’t totally suck?” Eliot asked, moving to suck at Quentin’s bottom lip, wrapping his hand around the back of his boyfriend’s neck. Quentin’s mouth was home.

Quentin near pulled Eliot on top of him, clumsily and desperately grabbing at him for more. Eliot gripped Quentin’s thighs, and pressed as deep as he could into his wanting boyfriend, whose head rolled back when Eliot attempted rest the top buttons on Quentin’s shirt with _his fucking teeth_ , kissing at Quentin’s nipple through the fabric.

“El... -- shit!”

“Whoa!” Eliot held Quentin still. The boat felt like it was about to roll over. He didn’t move one muscle until he felt the boat was safe.

Quentin begin to laugh, and when he lolled his head to the side, he asked, “What’s that?”

Eliot smiled. “Boats tip when you do things like that on them.”

“No!” Quentin laughed, running his hand through Eliot’s hair. “That.” He nodded toward an immaculate box underneath one of the seats.

Fuck. Eliot had forgot.

“I meant to give it to you when we got on,” he said, suddenly red with embarrassment. He carefully helped Quentin sit up.

Quentin reached out to rest the mysterious box, but Eliot beat him to it with a victory kiss to his Q’s cheek and another wobble of the boat.

“Sorry if it’s dumb.” Eliot smiled, putting the box in Quentin’s lap. It looked very medieval fantasy, black and sleek but light and charming at the same time. 

Quentin and Eliot’s hands met at the same place on the box. Quentin gasped when they opened it up to reveal a stunning flower crown, beautifully sewn together, with blooms of fresh sparkling flowers, perfectly plucked and trimmed along vibrant greenery. You couldn’t tell at all it was very DIY -- but Quentin had the feeling the crown was made with loving hands.

With swift, kind fingers, Eliot placed the crown delicately on top of Quentin’s pretty mess of hair. He pressed a soft kiss to Quentin’s forehead as he did so.

Quentin flushed deeply, putting his hands on his hips and raising his chin. “You think I’ll be a very good king?”

“For what it’s worth,” Eliot beamed, “yes.”

Quentin took Eliot’s hands and squeezed them. “You are far, far more princely material than I am. It’s fate.”

“Fate is bs, my dear. Destiny is a totally other thing. And you’re king.”

“Well I’m the king, like in the Fillory books, but you,” Quentin leaned in and pressed his lips to Eliot’s, “you are the high king of Fillory. And that somehow makes sense. The bravest and most merciful and spectacular who ever sat on the throne.”

Quentin met Eliot’s eyes. He was so incredibly touched how Eliot could be so kind-hearted and unflinching of affection in spite of what had happened to him. Quentin thought, he is so much stronger than me.

Eliot breathed in sharply. He couldn’t help the mist that clouded his eyes. His look he gave Quentin was one of the deepest reverence and purest love.

“If I seem braver, Q, It’s because I learned it from you.” He extended his hand and caressed Quentin’s cheek with utter devotion, as if stroking something sacred. And, oh, Quentin was, the most sacred being Eliot had or would ever know.

Tears brimmed Quentin’s eyelashes. “You’re so much...s-so much stronger than me, Eliot. Just-just, so much b-better.”

“Oh, honey,” Eliot smiled through his tears, “I have known what you truly are since the day we met. You, you are who makes _me_ better.”

Quentin hadn't noticed until he turned away to wipe at his face, that the boat had begun moving, seemingly on its own accord, the water a luminous, sparkling purple and aqua and pink, with the sound around them seeming dulled out and gentle and quiet. The shadow of the famous Bow Bridge in the darkened sky loomed over them; shockingly, it was decorated beautifully, out of the blue, he had never seen it before. The bridge was like the Rainbow Bridge described in the Fillory books. It was incredible.

None of this can be real, he thought. There isn’t anyway Eliot would think so highly of him, right? An yet, he believed his El, body and soul.

Eliot tenderly put both his hands on either side of Quentin’s face. 

“I know I told you once that I didn’t need a family to become who I was supposed to be. But it turns out that I did, and it was you.”

Quentin lips parted, his smile reaching his eyes.

“Everything in my life has been hard,” Eliot continued, rubbing Quentin’s cheeks with his thumbs, “But you…falling in love with you is the easiest thing I have ever done.”

If he could, Quentin would clasp his hands over his mouth. “El…”

“I love you, Quentin Coldwater,” Eliot continued ardently, “I always have.”

Quentin couldn’t even choke back his sob, it came at its own will. 

“I love you too, Eliot Waugh,” Quentin said quickly through heavy breath, “You’re my whole existence, and I’ll love you until my very last breath.”

Eliot laughed happily, almost in disbelief that this was happening. He swooped Quentin’s neck in his hand and kissed him passionately. The rush of all those years of pain and loneliness and terror drained out of him as he held his most beloved. Neither even flinched when the boat rocked again as they desperately clung to one another.

“I’ve wanted to say that to you for so long,” Quentin said into Eliot’s lips, “‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ And I was so scared. See? I’m not so brave after all.”

Eliot relecuntly pulled back, but only a little, to take in the shocking beauty of Quentin’s face.

“I love you,” Eliot said in such earnesty, pressing a lingering kiss on Quentin’s forehead, “the bravest person I know.”

Quentin fell into Eliot’s arms, burying his face in his neck. He breathed in Eliot’s scent, kissed his neck, feeling the beat of his heart.

It was real.

He leaned back and kissed Eliot on the mouth. Eliot brushed Quentin’s hair out of his eyes, and asked smilingly, “what?”

“Bold of you to tell me you love me, when I can’t make love to you without us drowning.”

The only thing they could be heard from that little spot in Central Park was the laughter of two people hopelessly, unbreakably in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you annis & cyn for all of your help for this chap & generally <3


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